


The Perfect Color

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: A Soul Mark could be left for any kind of love—familial, friendly, romantic, pure, fantastical. Each color represented a different bond between the people that touched skin-to-skin. The colors stayed the same until the death of that person. Then, the Soul Mark would turn grey.Katara had never seen someone without Soul Marks.But Zuko’s skin didn’t have colors—it only had scars.[Final chapter rating changed to Mature.]
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 154
Kudos: 735





	1. Blue Water

I did confer with this article for the meaning behind some of the colors, but it isn’t really necessary since I made up my own ideas behind each that I will explain [very simply] in the third chapter. Link: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/meaning-of-colors.html

X:Before:X

“ _Yellow_ nice to meet you.  
Do you know that you just _blue_ my mind?  
It was the perfect conversation, I think that I _red_ about one time.  
And I told a _white_ lie when I told you, I've never been _green_ with envy you.  
You are the _perfect color_.”  
—SafetySuit, Perfect Color

In the Fire Nation Royal Family, Soul Marks weren’t just discouraged, they were practically banished. Great care was always taken to avoid touching skin-to-skin, even between family members so that no Soul Marks would be left behind. After all, it wouldn’t do to have such a clear indicator for assassins to pick away at their hearts. It wouldn’t do for the Fire Nation Royalty to appear caring, to appear mortal, to appear human. They were supposed to be godlike in power ever since Sozin had taken the throne.

Soul Marks clearly displayed who loved you and who you loved throughout life in a variety of tiny touches. A Soul Mark could be left for any kind of love—familial, friendly, romantic, pure, fantastical. Each color represented a different bond between the people that touched skin-to-skin. The Soul Marks could move over time in accordance with new touches, often remaining permanently at the place of most-frequent touch, but the colors stayed the same until the death of that person. Then, the Soul Mark would turn grey. What better way to tear someone down than to slowly leech the colors from their visible skin?

Ursa was always careful not to touch her first child’s skin, not to leave a Soul Mark on him, though it was difficult. She wanted to see what color would bloom under the press of her fingertips. Would her love for the child of the man she hated be burning pink or cool blue or purple like a bruise? She had no doubts that she loved Zuko. When he was born, he was small and weak-lunged and without a firebender’s spark in his golden eyes. However, he smiled at her all the time, babbling and cooing. He rarely cried and she loved him. She knew she loved him.

Ozai wanted to dispose of Zuko within hours of his quiet birth. Ursa could still remember what his big unmarked hand looked like, knotted in Zuko’s receiving blanket as though to take out the garbage. He strode to the balcony, casting the doors open and letting in a gust of wintry wind. Ursa had begged for her child’s life on her knees, weak from labor, clinging to Ozai’s clothed ankles. Ozai grudgingly returned the swaddled child without ever touching him. Ursa was afraid that his touch would leave no colors on Zuko’s skin—that Ozai would never love him.

Then, Azula was born. She came out of the womb screaming, practically bending already, and she was beautiful. It was clear in an instant that Ozai would love her more than he would ever love Zuko yet he still was careful never to touch Azula. Ursa wondered if he was worried that his touch wouldn’t leave a Soul Mark on his favorite child.

Ursa wondered if he was even capable of love.

Ozai had never left a Soul Mark on his wife.

As Azula grew, Ursa began to fear that if she touched her child, she wouldn’t leave a Soul Mark on the girl either. Azula was passionate and terrifying, fiery and cruel, raging and calculating, but she was still just a child. She often tried to trick her mother or brother or servants into touching her. She wanted to see if anyone loved her—even then.

Zuko was the one who finally gave in. He used the tip of his finger to touch Azula’s. They pressed them together quietly, hidden under Azula’s canopy bed, and watched the colors bloom. Azula’s fingertip left a perfect sky-blue circle on the pad of Zuko’s index finger. His own love for her was bright and pink.

“Wow,” Azula murmured.

Zuko could only stare, stunned, at something he was only able to read about and see on commoners.

“So, you do love me,” Azula whispered. Her golden eyes were as cheerful as Zuko had ever seen them, her mouth was shaped in awe, and her throat jumped when she swallowed.

He inhaled deeply, shuddering, and looked at the little circle of color on his fingertip. “I do,” he agreed. “And you love me too.”

Azula nodded. Her smile was so small that it broke Zuko’s heart. He wanted to pull her in and touch her face, her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her hands, her legs, and her feet. He wanted to leave no doubt that she was loved by him, even if no one else ever touched her, even if their own parents never left a color on their skin.

For a full week, the little spot of color was Zuko’s secret and Azula kept hers too. They conveniently spilled ink on their fingers or muddied their hands or practiced firebending so that no one could look too closely. They should have realized that it wasn’t something they could hide forever.

Azula’s Soul Mark was spotted first. She was still young and had servants helping her bathe. One noticed the splotch of vivid color and reported it to their father.

Zuko was called to the banquet table where his parents and Azula were already waiting. In a rare display of emotion, Azula had tears glittering in her shining eyes as she looked at him. Her lower lip quivered, even as the muscle in her jaw twitched with tension. Her palm was pressed flat to the table with their mother’s hand secured over her sleeve. For the first time in weeks, her skin was scrubbed clean. The pink Soul Mark stood out like a miniature sun, almost glowing in the firelight.

Ursa’s expression was mournful. She didn’t look at Zuko, keeping her face downturned. Ozai was standing at the head of the table, his face inscrutable, hands folded behind his back. Zuko knew immediately that they had been caught and closed his hand protectively over the little splotch of sky-blue on his fingertip where Azula had touched him. Then, he loosened his clenched fingers. There was no point in hiding now.

“Yes, Father?” Zuko asked.

Azula made a little strangled sound.

“You have left a Soul Mark on your sister and she on you,” Ozai ground out. “This is inexcusable.”

Zuko didn’t argue. He imagined Azula already had and if their father didn’t care for her pleas, he certainly wouldn’t appreciate Zuko’s. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Put your hand down on the table,” Ozai ordered. “Ursa, hold them both down.”

Zuko put his hand on the smooth wooden surface, feeling the chill on his palm.

Ursa put her hand over his sleeve on his wrist and he felt her grip tremble.

“Daddy, please,” Azula protested.

Ozai lit a burning ember of flame in his palm and held it out to his children. The flame danced, throwing off painful heat even from that distance. “You have a choice,” Ozai said. “You can either reach your fingertip into the fire yourself or I can force your whole hand into it.”

Azula quivered, nearly vibrating with emotion.

Zuko couldn’t believe it. All this for a small touch, for a display of love, for a single Soul Mark.

“Ozai,” Ursa murmured.

The Soul Mark was tiny. Zuko knew it was dangerous, knew it was against the rules, knew he shouldn’t show his love for his sister, but… the Soul Mark was so little. He could cover it with ink forever and only the servants that attended his bathing would ever know. He could even do without them in a few years. He could wash himself. He could keep Azula’s Soul Mark. He could—it wouldn’t be a problem.

Ozai’s face was a dragon’s, lit up and darkened in turns by the flames in his hand.

Though Zuko wanted to protest, he knew he couldn’t. His hand wavered only slightly as he reached for the fire. Ursa gripped his wrist tightly over his sleeve, keeping it steady. She helped him not to flinch when he put his fingertip into the fire and burned away the bright spot of blue where Azula had touched him. Then, he sat back, nursing his finger, while Ursa did the same for Azula.

Ozai snuffed the flames. “I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson about breaking the rules,” he said coldly.

“Yes, Father,” Zuko murmured.

“Yes,” Azula whispered. She was staring at her seared fingertip with her lower lip pulled tight between her teeth.

It was the first time Zuko’s father had burned him and it wouldn’t be the last. By comparison, all the burnings that would follow would make this one seem like nothing. It was a little singe, no worse than what Zuko did regularly when he practiced firebending. If left unattended, he might have accidentally burned off Azula’s Soul Mark all on his own. But he wasn’t given a choice and neither was Azula.

Later, Zuko told his sister as they examined their bandaged fingers together, “This is our Soul Mark now. I still love you, ‘Zula, and I always will.”

Azula didn’t look at him. “Shut up, Zuzu,” was all she said.

Ozai had burned something else out of her that day.

…

“Dad’s going to kill you,” Azula said without preamble. Her voice was sing-song and high-pitched. Her flaming eyes wavered and her lips thinned around her malicious smile. She had this way of rubbing her scarred fingertip where their Soul Mark used to be against her palm when something was bothering her. “Really,” she insisted. “He is.”

Zuko didn’t want to believe her, but he did. He worried his own scarred fingertip.

In Zuko’s young mind, he figured there was one way to know for certain if his father would really sacrifice him. He could brush his father’s bare skin and see if he left a Soul Mark, could see—once and for all—if his father loved him. Surely, if he loved Zuko, he wouldn’t kill him. He knew Ozai would burn the Soul Mark off his skin afterwards, but it was a small price to pay. Zuko steeled himself, biting the inside of his cheek as he bided his time.

Zuko rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. Such a thing was frowned upon, since the risk of Soul Marks on the royal family was great, but it was blazing hot inside the palace. Ursa watched but didn’t protest. There was a secret smile on her lips. Azula watched him too, but didn’t mimic his actions. She bothered her burned finger.

Over dinner, Zuko saw his opportunity. Ozai was in his usual place at the head of the table, his expression sour and his eyes guarded. Servants bustled around the table, pouring chilled wine and juices. They carried in skewers of meat, platters of seared vegetables, trays of grilled potatoes. They hurried, focused on their tasks. Zuko took a deep breath, rose from his seat, and made his way around the table cautiously. The last thing he wanted was to get a servant in trouble.

Zuko knew what would follow his mistake, but he was going to do it anyway. He had to know for certain. He was near his father’s seat when he allowed his toe to catch on a raised tile. He cried out and went spilling downwards, arms wind-milling. Ozai was a master firebender. His reflexes were fantastic. Without thought, he reached out and snared Zuko by the wrist before he landed on his face. Ozai’s hands were hot and smooth, almost too soft when coupled with his iron grip.

From his knees, Zuko looked up at his father.

Ursa gasped loudly, her eyes widening.

Azula snapped to her feet, jostling the dishes on the table.

The servants all froze and then carefully resumed their service.

Ozai noticed Zuko’s bare skin and snatched his hand away as though burned.

With bated breath, Zuko turned his gaze to his exposed forearm. There was no color, no imprint of his father’s hand, no Soul Mark—his father did not love him. However, on Ozai’s palm Zuko’s skin had left a brand of faint yellow. Zuko’s love went one-way, unrequited by his own father. The realization blistered inside Zuko, more painful than any fire.

Ozai quickly stuffed his hands inside his billowing sleeves, his mouth curled down with silent scorn. He didn’t need to say anything.

The lack of Soul Mark was enough.

Zuko’s throat closed.

“Are you alright, Zuko?” Ursa said quickly. She rose from her chair and circled around the table to his side.

Zuko was still on his knees, staring up at his father. When Ursa reached for him, he became aware once again of his unprotected forearms. What if his mother touched him and left nothing on his skin? What if she didn’t love him either? He couldn’t bear to know. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, voice breaking. He scrambled away from her, pulling down his sleeves, heart jackhammering against his ribs. Zuko lurched to his feet and stood there, his back to the wall, shuddering all over. His skin tingled, aching and empty. His eyes strayed to his father.

Ozai’s mouth was hard. As Zuko watched, he summoned a flame in his palm and snuffed it with his other hand. His expression didn’t change, even as his skin charred. He pulled his hand away, destroying the Soul Mark Zuko had left behind. Zuko almost wished it was his own flesh burning. Somehow, the pain of a fresh burn would hurt less than the realization that his father had never loved him and never would.

Azula was just watching, her hands hidden beneath the table.

“Zuko,” Ursa tried again.

“I’m not hungry,” Zuko said. “I’m going to bed.” He turned and ran from the banquet hall without looking back.

That night, after he had cried himself to sleep, he was woken by the click of his door opening. Blearily, he sat up and scrubbed his eyes. “Mom?”

Ursa was standing there, a dark silhouette like something from a dream, like a ghost in the threshold. She crossed the room smoothly and hugged him over his clothes. “Remember this, Zuko,” his mother said. Her voice was pinched. “No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are.” Ursa didn’t kiss his cheek, didn’t take his hand, didn’t touch his bared skin. She left no Soul Mark on her firstborn son before she disappeared. Zuko would always wonder if that was because she didn’t love him. Maybe no one ever would.

X:The Boy in the Iceberg:X

Katara had never seen someone without Soul Marks.

Beneath her thick parka, she wore a variety of colors of love. She had a bright pink kiss on her forehead from her Gran-Gran, she had an imprint of her father’s comforting blue-green hand on her shoulder, a once-purple starburst where her mother had blown on her belly, and the line of her brother’s fingers in orange around her forearm. She had a few stray colors on her arms, legs, and torso from the brushes of friends.

Most of all, her exposed hands were an outburst of colorful Soul Marks where she had casually touched all the people in her tribe. She loved freely, openly, wildly. She loved many and was loved by many.

She never thought it was strange. She thought everyone was like that.

When she met Aang, she saw that his Soul Marks had been applied ritualistically in the way of the Air Nomads. Everyone who loved him was brought together to place their touch in the shape of an arrow on the crown of his head, down his back, over his limbs, and ending at his hands and feet. Though the marks must have once been vibrant and stunning in a myriad of colors, they had all faded to a grayish hue. Aang had been in that iceberg for one hundred years. All the people he had loved and who had loved him were dead.

Without hesitation, Katara removed her glove and held out her bare hand.

Aang accepted her touch, welcoming the bloom of bright peach across his palm. The color fought on Katara’s hands, sliding and smoothing between the splotches and patches at were already there. Even though they had just met, the Soul Marks knew a person’s destiny. The Soul Mark already knew that Katara would love Aang and that he would love her in turn.

Sokka’s colored hands were similar to his sister’s, though he was a hesitant to offer his own skinship to Aang right away. (When he finally did, it was after rescuing Aang from the Fire Nation’s banished prince.)

In a fall of soot-stained snow, Zuko arrived on the shores of their village. Katara had been too frightened to really look at the Prince of the Fire Nation. She had seen his armor and his scar and his twisted mouth and little else. He cut an imposing figure despite his youth and he was searching rabidly for someone. She recalled the glimpse of his untouched hand as he grabbed Gran-Gran by the shoulder of her parka and demanded they reveal the hidden Avatar. She hadn’t really thought about his unmarked skin in that moment as her belly twisted with fear.

It was only after he left with Aang that Katara thought about it. She wondered if firebenders didn’t have Soul Marks, that they couldn’t love by their very nature. Even as she thought that, she knew it was wrong. Everyone loved—had Soul Marks and colors on their skin—even firebenders.

When she saw Zuko on his ship with his uncle and the other firebenders, she realized he was the only one without color on his hands or visible skin. His pale skin was carefully untouched, save the twisting scar that dominated the left side of his face. His golden eyes gleamed. She wondered what kind of effort he went through to avoid touching anyone like that. She wondered why he bothered.

Fleetingly, she wondered if he didn’t have any Soul Marks because no one loved him. Such a thing didn’t seem possible.

Behind her, tumbled together in Appa’s saddle, Sokka finally pulled off his glove and clasped Aang’s hand. The Soul Mark that spread between them was so blue it was almost purple, a shade of cobalt that Katara had never seen before. She glanced backwards at Zuko as they flew away, his white face upturned to watch them escape. His expression was unreadable.

Katara had never seen someone without Soul Marks.

But Zuko’s skin didn’t have colors—it only had scars.

X:The Waterbending Scroll:X

The river babbled, speckled with pockets of white moonlight over the dark tumultuous water.

His voice was low and rough, coming out of the darkness like something from a nightmare. He said, “I’ll save you from the pirates.”

Zuko’s hands were so warm, even through her sleeves. Katara had never felt such warmth. His fingers wrapped around her wrists, restraining her, but not so tightly that it hurt. He was gentle, even as he sneered in her face. She didn’t notice it then. She was too worried about Aang and Sokka. Then, her hands were tied behind her back.

“Perhaps, in exchange, I can restore something you’ve lost.”

She felt it again, that incredible warmth. The edge of Zuko’s thumb brushed her throat when he lifted her mother’s necklace tantalizingly close. She didn’t notice it then. The ribbon was old and fragile, but didn’t look damaged aside from where it must have torn originally when Katara lost it. Zuko was using it for leverage, but he was also keeping it safe.

Katara didn’t tell him anything.

She didn’t notice it then.

…

Neither did he.

…

It was only afterwards, when Zuko was sitting alone in his quarters that he realized. He had touched her, however inadvertently. Along his thumb and index finger was a crisp line of deep pure red. It was sharp where her sleeve had been in the way but tapered gently like a cloud where his light grip had rested. On his other hand, there was another splotch of the same color at the edge of his thumb.

He had touched her skin-to-skin.

And she had left a Soul Mark on him.

Zuko’s heart stopped as he stared at the patches of color. He experimentally ran his fingers over them, but the skin was neither raised nor sensitive. It wasn’t a burn or an injury. It wasn’t a scar. It wasn’t dirt or mud or ink. It was a Soul Mark, lying on his skin where the Water Tribe girl had brushed him. He hadn’t noticed at the time if he had left a mark on her too. Now, he was desperate to look.

Zuko sought out Iroh and found him seated in the galley, enjoying a pot of ginseng tea and little sandwiches.

When Zuko entered, the cook made herself scarce. He wondered what kind of expression he was making to have her scarper from him so briskly.

“Uncle,” he began and then hesitated. He had his exposed hands folded behind his back which wasn’t uncommon, but somehow, he thought his uncle would just know. Zuko was struck—again, as usual—by the urge to touch his uncle and see if he left a color or was given one in return. However, whenever the impulse struck him, he thought of the burns his father had inflicted over the years to remove his few Soul Marks. He thought of Ozai touching him and leaving nothing. Zuko swallowed the lump in his throat instead.

“What is it, Prince Zuko?” Iroh asked gently. Flying in the face of Ozai’s beliefs, Iroh had many Soul Marks. He had colors on his hands and arms, sprays and spots of love on his skin. There was a child’s handprint at the base of his neck, grey and quiet now. Though Lu Ten was dead, the ashen mark of his love and Iroh’s love for his son remained.

“I have a question,” he blurted, “about Soul Marks.”

Iroh sipped his tea and nodded thoughtfully. He had tried many times over the years to talk to Zuko about his Soul Marks or lack thereof. He knew how much it hurt Zuko to have no physical reminders of love or friendship on his skin, yet be forced to see the scar of his father’s cruelty every time he looked at his burned face in the mirror. Iroh knew Zuko wanted those colors on his skin, but Zuko refused every offer.

Zuko was most afraid that nothing would happen, that no Soul Mark or color would be left behind. He worried that no one would ever—could ever—love him the way he wanted to be loved.

“The colors,” Zuko continued, “do they mean anything?”

“Well,” Iroh said cautiously, “it can be different between cultures. Did you have a particular color in mind?”

“Red.”

Iroh sipped his tea, giving himself a moment to think. “The color red tends to be a representation of pure romantic love. I have heard it said that the darkest colors of red represent one’s true Soulmate, that person who loves you the most in the world. Deep red is the color we hear of in songs and storybooks. Why do you ask?”

Zuko worked hard to give nothing away. “No reason,” he said. “What about pink?”

“I believe pink is the mark of unconditional love. That was the color of the Soul Mark I gave to Lu Ten.”

“And black?”

Iroh’s brow furrowed. “I have never met someone with a black Soul Mark. I imagine it would be something that hasn’t yet blossomed, like a secret.”

Zuko’s throat flashed as he swallowed. “What about blue?”

“I have heard it said that blue is the most loyal of all colors. It reveals absolute trust and peace.” Iroh was still looking closely at Zuko over the rim of his teacup.

“When Azula and I touched, when we were still children, that was the color she left on me,” Zuko admitted. It was the first time he had told anyone about the Soul Mark he had shared however briefly with his sister. “And I left pink on her.”

Iroh’s eyes lowered, but Zuko’s hands were hidden behind his back. Everyone knew what Ozai had forced his children to do after they had left Soul Marks on each other. It was not Ozai’s most cruel act and probably wouldn’t be his last towards his children. Iroh had always hated the way the Fire Nation’s royalty looked down on something as intrinsic as their Soul Marks. It was part of the reason he had gone out of his way to secure his own.

“What color do you think you would leave on me, uncle?” Zuko asked in a voice that was so small that Iroh almost missed it.

“Pink,” Iroh said assuredly. “Because I think of you as—”

“Goodnight,” Zuko interrupted.

Iroh let out a heavy sigh as the door to the galley slammed between them.

Outside the kitchen door, in the flickering firelight of the wall sconce, Zuko stared down at his hands. He didn’t doubt that Iroh was right. He had heard songs and fairytales of ‘True Love’ and ‘Soulmates.’ The color of the Soul Mark was always deep red. The darker it was, the deeper the love ran. Zuko tilted his hands in the light, examining where he had accidentally touched Katara. The color was rich and pure, like roses or fire lilies, like coals or blood, so dark that it was almost black.

“It is black,” Zuko told himself. “It has to be black.”

…

After escaping the pirates and the Fire Nation with the waterbending scroll, Aang, Katara, and Sokka landed with Appa in a grassy field near a stream. It was a perfect clear night for camping under the stars. Sokka had built a fire and Katara cooked a hearty stew with the supplies from her pack. They flopped down together in the circle of warmth cast by the fire, exhausted from the events of the day and ravenous.

“Katara,” Sokka said suddenly. He jabbed his spoon in her direction. “What is that on your neck?”

“Huh?”

“Right there,” Aang said and pointed.

Katara swiped at her neck blindly, unwilling to put aside her bowl of stew lest Momo get into it. “Did I get it?”

“Nope,” Sokka said and slurped.

Katara huffed, scarfed a few more bites of her dinner, and pulled a small round mirror from her pack. She tilted it into the firelight and examined her neck. There was a smudge there, something so deeply red that it bordered on black. She ran her finger over it and saw it there against all her other splashes of color.

“It’s a Soul Mark,” she realized. Her breath tightened in her chest.

“Another one?” Sokka asked. He squinted over the fire at her. “I haven’t seen that color before. When did that happen?”

“It must have been today,” Aang said thoughtfully. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”

Sokka’s brows drew together. “Today? You mean while we were fighting the Fire Nation and the pirates?”

Aang’s spoon drooped as he realized the implication.

Katara continued to examine the mark in the mirror, stretching her skin this way and that to get a better look at it.

“Who touched you?” Sokka asked. “Aang, are you going to finish that?”

“Do you remember?” Aang inquired. He handed over his bowl to Sokka.

Katara nodded. Only one person had had their hands near her neck while he held her mother’s lost necklace tantalizingly close. He was the only one who could have brushed her skin there. “It was Zuko,” she told them.

Sokka stopped eating. He eyed Katara’s neck again and swallowed, “Please tell me that color is black.”

“I don’t think it is,” Katara murmured.

Aang leaned closer and confirmed Katara’s worry. “It looks really red,” he said.

“We don’t know what the future holds,” Katara said because it was the kind of thing Gran-Gran would have told her. Katara picked her bowl back up and finished off her dinner.

Sokka and Aang were both quiet, glancing at her over the flames as they all absorbed the knowledge that Katara’s Soulmate was apparently the scarred banished Prince of the Fire Nation. The only positive was that if Katara had noticed her Soul Mark, he must have noticed his too. Maybe knowing that his Soulmate, his truest love, the person destined to be with him above all others, was working with the Avatar would change something for Zuko, but they didn’t hold their breaths.

X:The Blue Spirit:X

“If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends, too?” Aang’s voice was small.

Zuko lay flat on his back with his head ringing and his mouth dry. Aang had gathered a pillow of fresh green leaves to cushion his head and laid him gingerly into the hollow of a massive tree’s roots where he was protected from the wind. His mask, dual swords, and gloves were piled neatly a few feet away—not exactly in easy reach, but still closer than Zuko would have left Aang’s belongings. He blinked blearily, looking crookedly up at the Avatar against the canopy of dappling sunlight. It had been dark when they escaped. Aang must have stayed at his side all night.

Perched on the high arch of the tree’s root, Aang had his feet curled under him so he could move at a moment’s notice. He didn’t trust Zuko, which was fair despite the frankly-daring rescue Zuko had just performed. Legs pressed to his chest, arms looped around his knees, his cheek resting sadly on them, the Avatar looked young and fragile. His grey arrows stood out on his pale skin. Like Katara and Sokka, his bare hands were splashed with Soul Marks.

Zuko thought, unbidden, of the color Katara had left on his hands. What would it be like to see that color turn grey? His stomach twisted with the thought.

“I know that you’re Katara’s Soulmate,” Aang continued softly. “Do you want to see if I leave a Soul Mark on you, too?”

Zuko’s heart skipped, battering painfully against his ribs when it resumed. He both wanted and hated the mere thought of that. What did it mean for him if his Soulmate was at Aang’s side? What would it mean if the Avatar left a color on his skin when his own father hadn’t, when his own mother didn’t, when his sister’s had been burned off when he was a child? His mouth was too dry to speak.

Aang shifted his weight, reaching out one hand in the space left by Zuko’s silence.

Though Aang wasn’t even close to touching Zuko’s bare skin, he reacted violently regardless. He surged up and his vision swam dizzily at the sudden movement. Even so, he blasted a colossal fireball in Aang’s general direction. The green leaves around him curled with the heat of the blast, crisping and blackening.

Aang leaped away smoothly and without looking back.

Zuko watched the splotch of color—his yellow and orange robes—moving through the trees until the boy vanished. Then, Zuko looked at the blackened leaves and his rose-stained hands. Somehow, he mourned the loss of the color he hadn’t even wanted. He picked up his things and began making his way back to the ship. He didn’t follow Aang.

X:Bato of the Water Tribe:X

After June’s nose-blind shirsu paralyzed Zuko and June (and Iroh) and ran off into the woods surrounding the abbey, Katara took advantage of the rare quiet to approach Zuko without the threat of his firebending or her brother and Aang leaning over her shoulder. Lying flat on the hard ground, unable to move so much as his pinky, Zuko had no choice but to gaze up at her. He kept his golden eyes averted from her face and his lips pressed into a fine line as Katara crouched beside his head. Her body tingled all over and she told herself it was because of the shirsu’s paralytic still wearing off.

Katara saw her paired red Soul Marks on his skin, a bold line of touch along his thumb and index fingers were he had grasped her wrist over her sleeve and a smudge on the pad of his thumb to match the one on her neck. She examined her wrist, but couldn’t pick out where he had touched her amidst all the other colors on her hands. She knew that if they spent time together, her Soul Mark would move to wherever he happened to touch her the most. For now, the odd places would remain. She didn’t intend to touch him now, not while he was still dangerous.

The large scar on his face looked painful.

“Hi,” she said lowly.

Zuko didn’t answer, even though he could.

“So,” she continued, “what color are romantic soulmates in the Fire Nation?”

Zuko’s golden eyes darted wildly, like he was frightened.

“In the Water Tribe, my Gran-Gran told me it was red. The darker it was, the purer the love would be.” She brought a hand to the mark on her neck, tilting her head so he could see it clearly in the afternoon sunlight. “If you believe that, you’re my Soulmate.”

“I don’t believe it,” Zuko told her. His voice was quiet and hoarse. “It was a mistake.”

“There’re no such thing as mistakes when it comes to Soul Marks,” Katara told him. She felt patient, like she was explaining the colors to a child in her village for the first time. Up close, she examined Zuko’s exposed skin—his face and hands—but there was no sign of any other Soul Marks on him, just hers.

“Then it’s not red,” Zuko said sharply. He sounded desperate. “It’s black.”

Katara started to protest, but Sokka called for her. Without another word, she reached out and pressed one fingertip into the middle of his upturned limp palm. She could feel the heat of his skin, his inner fire burning, just as she had the first time he gripped her. Beneath her fingertip, the rich rose-red tones bled out. It seeped up Katara’s finger as well, washing away the other colors at the tip. She withdrew, looking down at the mark. It was larger than the others and there was no denying the color now. It was deep dark heart-stopping red.

Katara got to her feet and left with the Avatar. Now was not the time.

…

After they dropped off June back at her tavern, Zuko went straight to bed, but he couldn’t hide for his uncle forever. He skipped breakfast in the attempt. He skirted his uncle while he did his morning firebending and katas. He avoided the mess hall, but Iroh was waiting for him in the galley with a pot of tea and an air of quiet curiosity. He sipped his tea while Zuko made himself a plate of leftovers and heated it with his fire. He tried to eat quickly and quietly with his eyes glued to his plate.

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh began regardless. He had been listening while Katara whispered.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Zuko protested.

Iroh lowered his cup. “I have never known anyone to have the color Soul Mark that you share with Katara.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko bit out. “I have to capture the Avatar. Once I do that, she won’t feel the same about me anymore.”

“That is not how it works,” Iroh said slowly, “and you know it. Soul Marks know a person’s deepest feeling, deeper than even they know, and the Mark knows the future. It knows your destiny, Prince Zuko.”

The food turned to ash in Zuko’s mouth.

It wasn’t fair. He had had to give up so much in his short life. His upbringing had denied him any Soul Marks that he might have had from his mother or sister, from any friends. His experiences had made him terrified to touch his uncle and risk finding out that another person he adored didn’t love him and never would. He had been banished from his homeland and given a task that everyone thought impossible until a few months ago. Now, his Soulmate—the one person who might have loved him, might have really genuinely loved him—was his sworn enemy. It wasn’t fair.

He looked down at his open palm where Katara had touched him long enough to leave a circle the size of a copper piece. He couldn’t deny it now. The color was unmistakable. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered and closed his fingers over his precious new Soul Mark. “She can’t love me.” Zuko threw out the rest of his breakfast, plate and all with a hideous crash, and left the galley.

Iroh didn’t bring it up again.

X:The Siege of the North:X

Katara was careful not to touch Zuko while they fought and he did the same, even though it would have been child’s play to overpower her with close combat. He didn’t want to risk touching her and she didn’t seem to want to get close to him either. They fought at a distance, water and fire clashing through the little spiritual oasis. Steam clouded the air.

She had improved greatly. With the power and light of the full moon at her back, she soon had him on the ropes. He still didn’t close in on her, didn’t strike her with his bare fist, even over her clothes. He could see the Soul Mark on her neck, matching the ones she had given him on his fingers and palm. The color was pure and vibrant.

It wasn’t long before her wave of water lifted him off his feet. Reeling from the blow, Zuko gasped as it turned to ice all around him. Spears of icicles shot past his head and hands. For a moment, he thought it was over—that she would run him through and be done with this whole mess. However, Katara simply secured him in ice. A wiser warrior—any other warrior—would have killed him, but she didn’t.

Breathing hard, she lowered her stance and exhaled peacefully.

Zuko’s gaze was drawn to her as he caught his breath. Her dark hands were so colorful. Zuko had never seen anything like them in the Fire Nation or the Earth Kingdom. Vaguely, he remembered that her brother’s hands and Aang’s looked much the same. Bright and soulful from a myriad of touches and loves. They were so different from him.

“I had hoped you would join us,” Katara said suddenly.

Zuko’s head snapped up to look at her.

Her blue gaze was steady and open. “After you realized,” she continued, “that we were Soulmates, I had hoped you would join us.”

“I can’t,” he said and was amazed by how strangled those words were.

“Why not?” Katara asked without judgement.

His throat was dry and tight, burning as though he had swallowed fire. It was the first time he had really gotten to look at her and he was struck by how pretty she was. Limned in the silvery moonlight, she was all at once ethereal and attainable—her wavy hair and caramel skin, her ocean-blue eyes and full mouth, the young body that would develop and mature in the years to come. If their Soul Marks were to be believed, she was meant for him and he was meant to be hers. He caught himself wondering what she would look like wearing the red of their Soul Mark and shook the thought away.

“I want to go home,” he admitted.

Katara looked thoughtful. “Why can’t you?”

“I need to reclaim my honor,” he told her, “and for that, I need to capture the Avatar.”

Katara’s hand lingered at her neck. Her mother’s necklace and his Soul Mark were inches apart, almost intertwined.

Zuko closed his fingers over the matched mark on his palm.

“Maybe,” Katara murmured, “when all this is over…”

Zuko didn’t want to ask her what she meant. He didn’t want hope to take root in his chest. He didn’t want to expect that she thought she would somehow love him when this was all over. He couldn’t yearn for that.

Katara regarded him, her head tilted slightly and her braid slid down over her shoulder.

Zuko felt the sun begin to rise, filling his veins with warmth and strength. He inhaled, biding his time, feeling his inner fire swell. Steam began to wisp off his body, even as he shivered as melting ice water ran down his arms and legs. Katara turned her back on him so she could check on Aang.

It was easier that way, Zuko told himself. That way, he didn’t have to see her face when he betrayed her.

He blasted her with all his strength, fire overwhelming her defenses. She whirled, horrified, and tried to pull up a shield of water. It exploded on impact, ice and smoke boiling around them. Her body struck the pillar and she sagged, boneless in the thick grass. Zuko froze, staring at her crumpled form with his heart in his throat. Slowly, almost not daring to, he moved his eyes to their Soul Marks. The color on his hands remained rich and vibrant.

Katara was still alive.

Zuko took Aang and ran.

…

Despite himself, it was hard for Zuko to hide his relief when he saw her on the Avatar’s flying bison. Her face was pinched with suffering, but her blue eyes were bright. He had been worried that he had injured her badly when she didn’t wake right away. He wasn’t sure what kind of hell waited for people who murdered their own Soulmates, but he didn’t want to find out.

His mouth called out before he could stop it, “Here for a rematch?”

“Trust me, Zuko,” Katara said. Her arms and legs were steady, hidden in the depths of her fur-lined parka. “It’s not going to be much of a match.”

It wasn’t.

Sokka freed Aang hastily and then they were all clambering back into Appa’s saddle. The snow whipped into their faces, turned into stinging barbs on the arctic wind.

Katara cast her gaze over Zuko’s crumpled form. He had left her in much the same position, without a care, but she didn’t want to leave him. However, she knew she couldn’t ask her friends to bring him with them. Soulmate or not, he had kidnapped Aang and hurt her. He would probably do both again. She closed her eyes, squeezing the tears in, and focused on the road ahead. With her gloves on, she couldn’t see their Soul Mark and she couldn’t see the one on her neck without a mirror. She wouldn’t know if he survived until this was all over. Only then would she be able to see if their color remained or if it had gone grey with his death.

“Wait,” Aang said when he saw her face. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“Sure, we can,” Sokka told them. His voice was filled with forced-lightness, trying to give Katara an out. “Let’s go.”

Katara carefully didn’t look at either her brother or Aang. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yue shift.

“No,” Aang said firmly. He brushed some snow off his clothes and got to his feet. “If we leave him, he’ll die.”

Katara’s heart clenched.

Yue looked between the fallen prince and Katara. No one had told her about Katara’s Soulmate, but it was clear she suspected. Zuko’s hands were naked despite the frigid temperatures and it was significant that Zuko had so few. Even if the color red was common in Soul Marks, the particular hue that Zuko and Katara shared wasn’t.

Sokka glanced at his sister and then at Zuko lying facedown in the building snow. He heaved in a deep breath, but didn’t protest as Aang nimbly hopped down from Appa’s back. Aang hefted Zuko into the saddle, bent the snow off them both, and started flying back to the city. Sokka removed his gloves and turned the rope that had once bound Aang on Zuko, lashing his hands behind his back. The edge of his knuckle brushed Zuko’s palm. As with Katara, it wasn’t as noticeable on Sokka’s colorful hands and he wasn’t looking that closely at Zuko’s blue-tinged skin. He didn’t notice the Soul Mark then.

…

The moon was full and heavy in the sky, but the sight of it was somehow sorrowful. Zuko could still remember what it had felt like when the Moon Spirit was dead. All the color had been washed from the world, enflamed instead with the rage and anguish of the Ocean Spirit. The loss of the rich wine-red of his Soul Mark was like a knife to his belly. Zuko stared at it now, tracing it with his thumb as he breathed heat back into his bluish skin.

“I’m tired,” Zuko confessed to Iroh.

“Then you should rest,” Iroh said gently.

Zuko slept all night, flat on his back in the little boat, too exhausted to even feel the cold spray from the ocean. He didn’t realize until much later that Iroh had sat up all night, keeping Zuko warm with his firebending and feeding hot air into the sail so they could drift into the relative safety of Earth Kingdom waters. When they beached the little boat the next morning, Zuko climbed shakily out. His legs felt weak and watery. He rubbed his hands together, breathing another puff of flame into his cupped palms. Why were they still blue?

Zuko’s breath hitched.

Iroh craned his neck to look and then averted his gaze.

Zuko ran his opposite thumb over the smear of thick cornflower blue that ran along the outside of his palm as if he had been writing and moved his hand across the ink while it was still wet. His breath caught. Unlike with Katara’s Soul Mark, he had no idea who this touch belonged too. Someone had bound him while he was unconscious in the snow and the touch must have happened then. The knots had been easy to slip, almost as though the person had wanted him to escape. The color was still vibrant so he knew it hadn’t been the girl who had given her life for the Moon Spirit. It must have either been Aang or Sokka.

He thought back to what Iroh had said about the color blue. He thought about Azula’s pale sky-blue Soul Mark, hidden beneath the scar on his fingertip.

Either Aang or Sokka would grow to trust him and to love him enough to leave a Soul Mark on his skin. That was their mistake, he decided. However, he caught himself often looking down at the limited colors on his skin, marveling at the richness of Katara’s love and the pure hue of the other mark. For so long, his skin had been naked of everything save scars. He wanted more—more colors, more Soul Marks, more love in his life.

He glanced at Iroh as they walked, warming under the Earth Kingdom sun, but he did not dare to ask.

X:End:X

Jeez, I had to cut myself off because every time I re-read this to edit, I added more and more. I’m really into this idea!

So, my explanation on this whole Soulmate AU: Whenever someone touches another person skin-to-skin, if they love them in any way [familial love, friendship, romantic, true love, etc] it leaves a color on their skin. The marks can be one-sided, but are mostly reciprocal. Unconditional or familial love is usually pink. Romantic or true love is a hue of red. If someone dies, the color is leeched out of their Soul Mark, leaving it grey. [I know Aang’s tattoos are technically blue, but let me have it. I’m colorblind and they look grey to me.] I said at the top, I will be giving you all the meanings I had behind each color at the end of chapter three. Until then, I think I explained the meaning pretty well if there was one.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	2. Green Earth

Thanks for reading!

X:The Avatar State:X

“Now, there's always gonna be someone who thinks art has no meaning,  
Who looks up at the Sistine Chapel and only sees a ceiling.  
But you, you, you—  
Well, you know what I would say to you?  
You know what I would say to you?”  
—SafetySuit, Perfect Color

“I care about you!” Iroh protested. “And if Ozai wants you back, well, I think it may not be for the reasons you imagine.”

“You don’t know how my father feels about me,” Zuko said. He kept his back to his uncle. He couldn’t bear the look on his face. Iroh’s expression was all his feelings—all his doubts and fears, the yellow Soul Mark he had once left on his father’s palm, the pain in his burned face, the lingering dark of his scar, the sting of abandonment and rejection—given physical form. “You don’t know anything!”

“Zuko,” Iroh said and his voice was gentle, coaxing, the same as it was when he gingerly tended Zuko’s seared face. He was the only one Zuko had allowed to strip his bandages. At thirteen, Zuko hadn’t wanted to tend the injury at all, preferring to let it heal and scar hideously on its own. Iroh had insisted then that they treat it, arguing with Zuko over it, even when Zuko thought he didn’t deserve the care. “I only meant that in our family, things are not always what they seem.”

Iroh’s soft voice prickled at Zuko, itching in his scar and along the old wounds his father had inflicted. Iroh had always tried to fix it, tried to make it better, tried so hard—Zuko couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair. Why didn’t his own father—? “I think you are exactly what you seem!” Zuko blurted. The words burned his lips and tongue like flames. “A lazy, mistrustful, shallow old man who’s always been jealous of his brother!”

Iroh flinched, his eyes pinched and his mouth turned down. For just a moment, Zuko thought Iroh would slap him and he moved backwards, but the thought passed. Instead, Iroh tucked his hands into his sleeves and made himself comfortable in his seat in silence.

ZUko knew what he said wasn’t true. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t give any more weight to the treacherous ideas that his Uncle Iroh was right. He paced the small room, his mind a whirlwind. Again and again, Zuko thought of Ozai’s bare hand touching his arm and leaving nothing behind. He thought of his mother, disappearing like a phantom in the night after securing her son’s life. He thought of Azula, worrying the scar on her fingertip where their Soul Mark had once been. He thought of Iroh, offering a Soul Mark to Zuko again and again despite Zuko’s desperate denials.

“My father cares about me,” Zuko insisted under his breath.

Iroh glanced at him but didn’t speak. He had already said his piece, but Zuko couldn’t hear them. Iroh’s eyes were suspiciously glassy after the cruelties Zuko had hurled at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but turned his head away instead. Only time would tell if he was going to be right.

Zuko didn’t apologize to his uncle, even though he wanted to. He needed space to think, time to think, to think about anything else. Zuko didn’t let his thoughts drift into the bleak waters of his family. He didn’t need anyone to remind him that care was not the same as love. He didn’t need to remember Ozai searing off the Soul Mark Zuko had left without so much as a wince. He didn’t need to remember begging on his knees for his father’s mercy and being denied it. He didn’t need to remember the searing pain in his face, the darkness that overtook the edges of his vision, the scar that still haunted his reflection.

“We’re going home,” Zuko said instead. The word summoned up a sense memory inside him, something as tender as any bruise.

Iroh continued to watch him, his expression inscrutable and his eyes wet.

They packed their few belongings together. Zuko noticed that Iroh donned his full armor while Zuko optimistically wore his light cotton garb.

The sun was high, the smell of the ocean was sweet, and the waves lapped rhythmically against the hull of Azula’s large ship. She smiled sweetly at her brother, her body relaxed and her hands resting behind her back. Her chocolate hair was longer than Zuko remembered but still tamed into a tight topknot. It was amazing how much she had grown—his little sister, almost a woman. She reminded him of their mother, as beautiful and poised as a fire lily. He wondered if she was still worrying the scar on her finger, if she was as happy to see him as he was to see her.

Then, with a slip of the Captain’s tongue, it all came crashing down.

“We’re taking the prisoners home!”

Iroh had been right after all.

In the wake of the sucker-punch, Zuko wasn’t sure what hurt more—the knowledge that he still didn’t have his father’s love and probably never would or the bitterness he had thrown in Iroh’s face. Iroh was the one who had been at Zuko’s side for the entirety of his banishment, not Ozai. Iroh had helped him heal, not Ozai. Iroh had trained him, not Ozai. Iroh had offered Zuko a Soul Mark, not Ozai.

Yet Zuko had still chosen his father over his uncle.

Azula spewed vitriol like blood bubbling from a wound. She dodged Zuko’s every angry blow. She barely fought back with fire, instead using her words to her advantage. Each sentence only proved without a doubt that Iroh had been right from the start. The Soul Marks had been right. Ozai would never love Zuko.

Azula finally landed a punch, flames licking over Zuko’s skin, and his vision blurred with the blow. He landed hard, gasping for breath, and looked up when he smelled the burn of ozone. Azula had the scent of a storm all around her, her fingers pointed directly at him. Zuko had the fleeting thought that her lightning was the same color as the Soul Mark she had left on him.

Then, Iroh redirected the lightning, grabbing Azula’s hand in his own.

Zuko wondered if Iroh left a Soul Mark on his sister.

Then, Iroh had him under the arms and was shouting in his ear.

Zuko just ran.

It felt like days before they stopped running. Iroh collapsed, panting, beside a stream and cupped his hands to drink. Zuko’s mouth tasted like blood, his throat was raw, and his head ached. However, he couldn’t help but lean over and look at Iroh’s palm. The sunlight dappled through the trees, leaving greenish splotches on their skin. Where Iroh had gripped Azula, there was nothing.

Zuko swallowed, his throat closing.

Iroh turned slightly towards him, saw his face, and explained softly, “I grasped her at the wrist over her sleeve.”

Zuko looked away sharply. He stared into the rushing water, but did nothing to quench his thirst. The burning in his throat was more desirable than the searing pain in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

Iroh laid his hand on Zuko’s shoulder over his clothes and gave a squeeze. It felt like a balm smoothed over a ragged wound, another display of Iroh’s affection, another silent promise that while Ozai wanted nothing to do with Zuko, Iroh was still at his side. Zuko ached with what he had said to his uncle only hours before. Together, they left the stream and the Fire Nation behind.

X:The Cave of Two Lovers:X

The night was still, allowing the scent of roasted duck to linger. Cicada-crickets chirruped in the dry grass. The moon shone high and full. The tight band that had been crushing Zuko’s lungs over the past few days loosened slightly now that he knew his uncle would survive his foolish brush with death. His stomach was full for the first time in weeks—since his father had branded him a traitor and sent his sister to drag him home in chains. The band squeezed in his chest again.

The sliding screen was virtually silent as it opened. Song padded out behind him in stocking feet and found a seat nearby. She sat beside him in silence for a little while, staring out at the fields surrounding her home. Her breathing was light and she smelled like plum blossoms.

Finally, Song said gently, “The Fire Nation has hurt you.”

As if Zuko needed a reminder. He saw the Fire Nation’s cruelty every time he looked in the mirror, every time he looked at his hands, every time he saw the Avatar.

Besides Iroh and Katara, Song was the first person to speak to him so gently. Zuko hated the way she made him think of Katara. They were nothing alike. Song had pale skin and dark eyes to Katara’s burnished bronze and ocean-blue. They both had dark hair, he supposed, but that was all they shared. That, and the way they spoke to him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, pretending, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to pretend.

Song reached as though to touch him, her hand fluttering like an albino bird-moth in his peripheral vision.

Zuko jerked away as sharply as though she had raised a blow. His scar stung, even though she hadn’t touched it.

She lowered her hand, clutching her opposite fingers in her lap. Then, she continued, “It’s okay. They’ve hurt me, too.”

Song drew up the leg of her loose trousers, revealing a collection of Soul Marks on her calf that had turned grey. Zuko couldn’t help but look, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth in horror and shock. He hadn’t seen so many dead Soul Marks on anyone except Aang. Everyone the Avatar had loved and been loved by had been gone for one hundred years, but Song… The Soul Marks on Song’s hands and forearms were grey as well, colorless save the pale pink on her wrist that Zuko assumed belonged to her mother. The Fire Nation had taken everyone from Song, leaving her with only the memories and grey marks of her loved ones.

His eyes stole immediately to the pure rose-red and the stripe of cornflower blue on his hands. He carded his thumb habitually over them both.

“That shade of red,” Song murmured. “I’ve only heard of that color in legends. You have a Soulmate, don’t you?”

Zuko curled his hands in, hiding Katara’s Soul Mark. It seemed cruel to show Song when she had lost so much.

Song lowered the leg of her pants and rubbed the grey palm print on her forearm. “I’ve forgotten what color my father used to be,” she said softly. “It was so long ago that the Fire Nation raided our village and took him away. The only thing I remember clearly anymore is the day I saw my Soul Mark turn grey and I knew he was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said earnestly because he was.

Song smiled sadly at him. “It’s okay,” she said. “Seeing your colors gives me hope.”

“My colors?” Zuko repeated.

Song nodded. “Yeah,” she explained. “Those colors are so rich. The people who left them must love you very much. I’m happy to know that love like yours still exists in the world.”

Zuko’s chest squeezed again, making it hard to breathe, as he looked down at the marks on his hands—love and trust, red and blue, Soulmate and Soul Mark. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Song.

“You’re going to them, right?” she asked the quiet between them.

Zuko didn’t want to lie to her, but how could he tell her the truth? Instead, he answered as honestly as he could, “Someday, if I can.”

Song reached out again.

Zuko watched her from the corner of his scarred eye.

She laid her hand on his shoulder over his clothes and gave a light squeeze. “I hope you do,” she told him. “Come inside. We’ll have some dessert.” Then, she climbed to her feet and headed back into the warm lamplight of the house. The screen was soundless again, barely a sigh of stirred air.

Zuko sat on the porch for a while longer despite the promise of sweets, listening to his uncle’s raucous laughter and the lilt of stories being told over tea and cake. He continued to run his thumb over the colors on his hand, but he stared out into the night rather than looking at them. The dark felt comforting. Somewhere, he knew Katara and Aang were looking at the same sky.

X:Avatar Day:X

“I need to find my own way.”

Zuko didn’t look back when he left Iroh. He couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he would do if he looked back and saw tears on his uncle’s face. Would he stay? Would he leave anyway?

What if he looked back and Iroh was relieved to see him go? Zuko thought for certain he would break into pieces if that happened.

He thought again of his father’s hand closing around his forearm to keep him from falling, leaving the skin naked and colorless even as Zuko’s yellow Soul Mark spread on Ozai’s palm. Again, Zuko thought about asking Iroh to make a Soul Mark on his skin so that he could know once and for all where they stood, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t take the chance that nothing would happen.

So, even though Zuko wanted to, he didn’t look back.

X:Zuko Alone:X

“I think you’d really like my brother, Sensu,” Lee said as he lowered the dual swords. The moonlight glinted on the blades. “He used to show me stuff like this all the time.”

The sunflowers swayed around Zuko’s shoulders as they walked back to the house. Lee skipped and tripped alongside him. The moon cast their shadows ahead like phantoms darting through the crops. Unbidden, Zuko couldn’t help but think of Azula. He would have wanted to teach her the way he was teaching Lee, if only she hadn’t been born a prodigy that never needed anyone’s help.

Lee rolled up his sleeve and showed Zuko the span of fingers and palm around his upper arm. The color was the bright green of new growth. “This is Sensu’s Soul Mark,” Lee explained, though he didn’t need to. “As long as the color is still there, I know my brother is okay.”

Zuko didn’t tell Lee that just because his brother was still alive, didn’t necessarily mean he was okay.

“You don’t have many Soul Marks, do you?” Lee asked quietly.

Zuko shook his head. He had had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows while he had helped Gansu re-shingle the roof of their modest barn. Lee had asked about the lack of Soul Marks then, but his father had silenced him. At the time, Zuko was grateful. Now, after spending time with the family, he didn’t know how to answer Lee’s questions. He didn’t like the answers he had for most of them.

“Why is that?” Lee asked when Zuko didn’t offer an explanation.

“I’m not a touchy person,” Zuko admitted because it was gentler than the truth.

Lee paused and looked up at Zuko. His gap-toothed smile was earnest in the way only children could be. He reminded Zuko suddenly and painfully of Aang. “We could make a Soul Mark, if you wanted!” he said cheerfully.

Zuko’s stomach churned. “No,” he said too quickly and sharply.

Lee sobered. “Okay,” he agreed. “At least you have those two Soul Marks.”

Zuko looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“Well, goodnight,” Lee said once they reached the front door.

“Night,” Zuko answered.

…

Dust and smoke settled. The walls of flame and cracked rock had decimated the town square, spreading out from where Zuko had risen to his feet like a phoenix. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, spiking with pain where Gow had landed the lucky strike that had knocked him flat on his back. His dry throat prickled, but his hands were steady and sure.

“Who—who are you?” Gow’s voice quaked with fright.

“My name is Zuko,” he said and it felt like a mantra, “Son of Ursa and Firelord Ozai, Prince of the Fire Nation and Heir to the Throne.” His blood bubbled with pride, his mouth curved into a smile, and his fire surged higher in response. He adjusted his grip on his twin swords, but he didn’t need them anymore. He could burn the world to the ground. He could feel it.

“Liar!” The old man’s voice was hoarse from coughing in the dust and smoke. “I heard of you. You’re not a prince, you’re an outcast.” To the crowd of onlookers, he announced, “His own father burned and disowned him!”

“It must not be true,” a woman said. “He has Soul Marks. No one in the royal family has Soul Marks.”

“They can’t love,” someone else responded. “The Fire Nation can’t love anything except war and suffering.”

“He must have faked them to blend in,” a man shouted. “No one could love someone like that!”

“He faked the colors in his Soul Marks when ours have gone grey!” someone else screamed.

The words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. Zuko swallowed his response. He focused instead on taking back the pearl-handled dagger from Gow. He approached Sela and Lee who had given him shelter, friendship, and acceptance just the night before. Now, Sela had positioned her thin body in front of her remaining son. Her face was a storm, her eyes flashed, and her lips trembled.

“Not a step closer,” Sela growled.

Zuko could see her shaking. For a moment, he thought about touching her. He wondered if he would leave a color, if she would. Just last night, he had almost thought they were friends. Instead, he knelt on the cracked and burned ground and offered the knife to Lee. “It’s yours,” he found himself saying. “You should have it.”

“No!” Lee shouted. His voice was shrill. “I hate you!”

Zuko recoiled despite himself. He rose back to his feet, suddenly feeling all the aches and pains from his fight with the Earth Nation thugs. All around him, the fires had died out, leaving only scorched earth. The sight felt like his heart. The villagers who had cheered for him when they thought he was their champion now looked at him with derision. A few had picked up blocks of broken stone and gripped them with white knuckles. He knew that if he made one wrong move, they would hurl those rocks at him.

Zuko placed the knife at Sela’s feet for Lee. He stood up, but didn’t sheathe his swords. He mounted up on his ostrich-horse and turned to see that the village had assembled a modest army to see him off. He couldn’t see Sela or Lee in the stern-faced crowd. He was almost grateful for that. He rode swiftly, kicking up dust and leaving the village behind him.

Only when the ostrich-horse was near collapse from exhaustion did Zuko give in and stop for the night. He built a fire while the ostrich-horse cropped grass nearby. He sat close, staring into the flames and feeling them pulse within him. He stared at his hands, at Katara’s pure red Soul Mark, at the stripe of cornflower blue. He summoned a flame in his palm.

He thought about burning them off.

He could have a few more scars, like the one that removed Azula’s Soul Mark in his childhood. It didn’t hurt anymore, he told himself.

He could be without colors, without a Soulmate, without anything. It would be easy. All he had to do was bring the fire a little closer. All he had to do was touch it and the marks would be gone.

What was one more scar?

He left them.

X:The Chase:X

The blast Azula inflicted on Iroh wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Luckily, Zuko had plenty of practice treating burns. What he couldn’t bear to do was lower his uncle’s tunic and dress the wound directly. He knew it would be difficult to stop his shaking hands from touching Iroh’s bare skin and he didn’t have gloves that were clean enough to be around the wound. Instead, he carefully peeled the singed tunic aside to give himself enough space to work and patched Iroh as best he could around his clothes.

The night wore on and Zuko watched Iroh’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Though the wound wasn’t severe, Iroh was old. Every time his chest hitched and snuffled in his sleep, Zuko thought it was the end. His legs ached from the stress of hovering over Iroh, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax.

What if Iroh got worse?

What if he… died…?

Zuko tried to convince himself to reach out and touch Iroh’s exposed wrist. He would want to know, one way or another, if Iroh really loved him before his uncle passed away. What if he never got a chance to know the truth? What if he never got a chance to see Iroh’s color on his skin? He reached out a few times, but always aborted the movement before he could touch.

Worry prickled at Zuko beyond the concern for Iroh’s life. Would it be worse to receive a Soul Mark and have to watch the color bleed out of it when Iroh breathed his last? Or would it be worse to receive nothing at the touch of skin-to-skin—to find that another person didn’t love him? Zuko couldn’t decide.

The night wore on.

Zuko continuously brewed pots of tea, took sips, and discarded whole pots. If—when—Iroh woke, he would want a cup of tea and Zuko would have one waiting for him. Zuko checked the wound again and again, but it was cauterized by the impossible heat of Azula’s blue flames. Zuko didn’t know if Iroh’s pulse was steady. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his uncle’s neck with his bare fingers.

He watched Iroh breathe as he slept. Again and again, there was a little hitch that brought Zuko to his feet with his heart in his throat. Then, it would smooth out and Zuko would fall into a crouch with his head bowed between his knees, dizzy with relief and eyes stinging with emotion. He brewed a new pot of tea, sipped, and discarded it.

He didn’t touch Iroh skin-to-skin that night.

He didn’t ask to make a Soul Mark the next day when Iroh woke seemingly none the worse for the wear.

X:Tales of Ba Sing Se:X

Jin wasn’t a striking girl by the standards Zuko was used to. However, as the warm glow of the Firelight Fountain played on her smooth cheeks and bright eyes, Zuko found himself captivated. She looked around in awe, apparently unsuspecting how all the lamps could have been lit in mere moments. She was sweet and open, honest in a way no one ever was around Zuko. She smiled when she caught him looking at her and the illumination danced in her dark gaze.

“Close your eyes,” she said softly.

Zuko hesitated a moment, uncertain.

Jin was still smiling, limned golden in the flickering light of the countless lamps.

The fountain tinkled merrily, babbling and bubbling. The smell of smoke was light in the air. Shadows sputtered and danced. The tiny deserted square felt magical.

Zuko closed his eyes.

The first brush of Jin’s mouth against his was soft, feather-light, sweet, almost cold in its brevity. She withdrew almost immediately, but he could still sense her nearby. He could feel the heat coming off her body, feel her warm breath, feel the weight of her expectations. He chased her kiss before he even thought about it. He wanted more. He wanted to feel her—to feel loved. His mouth slanted over hers, returning the kiss, and she made a soft sound. Her hands gripped his sleeves, tangling in the fabric, rucking it up to reach his skin.

Zuko snapped away immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s complicated,” Zuko told her. He looked down at the two solitary Soul Marks on his bare hands.

Jin liked him, that much was clear. What if she touched him and left a color? What if it was red, like Katara’s? He knew that was impossible. People only had one Soulmate, but part of him still wished the deep red hue that Katara had left on his skin was black. What if Jin was someone who could love him?

Zuko’s pounding heart worried that he would abandon everything he had left just for that—just to be loved. Iroh loved the tea shop, loved Ba Sing Se, loved being out of sight of the Fire Nation. He was building them a life here. Zuko could stay, could be happy with that—could be happy with Jin. He had a feeling if such a thing was dangled in front of him, he might not be able to resist.

He thought about his father, about Azula, about his homeland and his birthright.

He thought about the Avatar and about Katara.

Zuko swiped his thumb across the Soul Marks on his hand, his nail scraping harshly against the skin. “I have to go,” he said finally.

Jin didn’t protest.

Zuko turned his back quickly, hastily walking away.

Her dark shadow remained, watching him go.

Zuko looked at his reflection in a passing shop window, but Soul Marks were rare on lips, even between people who knew already that they loved each other. He doubted Jin’s first fleeting kiss would have left one on him, but he still found himself disappointed when he saw that his skin was as pale and colorless as before. Only the dark shape of his scarred eye looked back.

X:Lake Laogai:X

The Avatar’s bison was perhaps the fluffiest creature Zuko had ever laid eyes on. He didn’t want to admit to his uncle that he had been pondering bringing the flying beast home with him to their little apartment. He had also been thinking about burying his face in that soft white fur until he just disappeared. Somehow, in all the time he had spent following Aang, he had never touched the animal. His fingers itched to do so now.

Appa’s warm honey-brown eyes watched Zuko warily as he approached. Shackled, surely recalling the times Zuko had attacked Aang, the bison had no reason to trust Zuko. He had already tried to attack, but the chains on his legs prevented him. Appa looked impossibly sad in this earthen cave, so far from the sky.

Such a thought had never struck Zuko when he had seen Aang in chains.

Iroh watched as well, wondering what Zuko was going to do. He had his hands folded inside his sleeves as though to fight the temptation to reach out, grab Zuko, and shake him.

Zuko had cast aside his Blue Spirit façade and his twin swords. He pulled off his gloves and approached Appa with one bare hand outstretched. He wondered if the Soul Marks on his skin made Appa feel better. Appa’s lip curled, but Zuko refused to let himself be frightened. He swallowed and inched closer. Finally, Appa’s growl diminished and he regarded Zuko silently.

Once he was satisfied that Appa wouldn’t crush him, Zuko set to work on the shackles one at a time, staying light on his feet just in case Appa changed his mind. Before long, the chains fell away and Zuko skipped back a few steps. Appa tested his legs and Zuko saw that the snow-white fur was matted and bloody beneath the bands of iron. He wanted to do something for the injuries, but he had only fire at his disposal and Appa didn’t need more of that.

Appa lumbered forward, stiff and slow, and then gave Zuko a big sniff.

Zuko stretched out his hand again.

Appa regarded Zuko’s long fingers for a moment and finally nudged his wet nose against Zuko’s palm. Zuko couldn’t help but give in to his desire. He dug his hand through the thick fur on Appa’s cheek, burrowing his fingers deep until he could give a good scratch. Appa gave a groan of appreciation and his intelligent eyes flickered open to study Zuko again.

Zuko withdrew, taking several steps backward.

Appa’s eyes were soulful. He nudged Zuko with his nose and then took several steps towards the door, looking back as though to beckon.

“Go,” Zuko said. “Find Aang.”

Appa warbled lowly in something akin to a protest.

“Go,” Zuko insisted.

Appa disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, moving quickly for such a big beast.

“You did the right thing,” Iroh said softly.

Zuko looked down at his palm, memorizing the feeling of Appa’s fur under his fingers. Something about petting Appa reminded him of the tingle he had felt when Katara made the large Soul Mark with the tip of her finger in the middle of his palm. He closed his fist over both the sensations, shouldered his swords, and followed Iroh out of the dark.

X:The Crossroads of Destiny:X

The light of the Crystal Catacombs beneath Ba Sing Se was greenish. It made Katara’s clothes look turquoise, made her eyes sparkle, caught in the highlights of her dark tightly-braided hair. Zuko blended in with his Earth Kingdom robes, the hue splattering over him like a thousand Soul Marks. He looked at his skin for a little while in silence, both loving and hating the way it made his pale skin appear well-loved and thoroughly-touched.

Finally, Katara broke the silence. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he was quick to say.

“It’s just that… for so long now, whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face.”

“My face?” His hand trembled slightly, fingers lit up with the color of her rose-red Soul Mark.

There was a new one on his skin, she noticed, a deep rich cornflower blue that spanned the edge of his palm. She wondered who had given it to him—maybe his uncle?

“I see,” Zuko murmured and dragged his fingers harshly across his scarred face.

“No,” she said suddenly. “No. That’s—that’s not what I mean.”

His scarred eye was thinned, squinted, so that it looked as though he didn’t believe her.

She didn’t blame him. She didn’t believe herself either. He was supposed to be her Soulmate, but she didn’t understand or love him more than anyone else in his life. He didn’t protest the treatment. He figured that he had earned it, that he deserved it, that being unloved was justified by his behavior. He felt lucky enough that she had even colored his skin.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. He lowered his hand. “I used to think this scar marked me—the mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever…” He hesitated, glancing at her by the light of the crystals. “But lately, I’ve realized I’m free to determine my own destiny, even if I’ll never be free of my mark.”

“Maybe,” she said softly, “you could be free of it.”

“What?”

He hated the way his traitorous voice pitched. Every time he thought he had made peace with something, Katara’s voice brushed against his thoughts and changed everything. He had resigned himself to never having Soul Marks. He had resigned himself to his scar, but her offer made his head jump. Could he be free of it? Could be put it behind him? He looked at the mark in the middle of his palm where she had purposefully pressed her finger, where he had gripped her at the edge of her sleeve, where his thumb had brushed her neck. The Soul Marks were dark and vibrant and precious and his and hers.

Katara moved through the space between them, her colorful hands open and unthreatening. In the greenish glow of the crystals, she looked like something he had dreamed up, something he had imagined, something impossible. She stopped a few feet from him and lifted her hand. Her colored fingers were beautiful up close. Layers and layers of Soul Marks fought for dominance in her skin. She touched people often and freely. Zuko was pleased to see that her fingertip, where she had pressed against his palm after his failed attack on the abbey, was still dark red. Nothing had overpowered that Soul Mark, the mark of her Soulmate, his color on her skin.

“What are you going to do?” he asked when she stopped there, waiting.

“I could touch you,” she breathed. “I could cover the scar with our Soul Mark.”

Zuko’s breath caught, fluttering against the cage of his ribs. His heart hammered. Such an offer, to put her love on display for everyone to see—to paint it over his face, over his father’s cruelty, over his shame—would be like planting flowers on a gravesite. He both wanted it and hated himself for wanting it.

“In the Fire Nation, it’s forbidden for the royal family to have Soul Marks,” he blurted. “Especially visible ones.”

“That’s awful,” she said softly. “Why?”

“Because…” Zuko flashed back to his childhood, to his sister’s blue Soul Mark being burned off, to his father’s hand leaving nothing on his skin, to his mother vanishing before he could ever know if she loved him. “It wouldn’t do for assassins to know who we care about,” he said finally. It was easier to tell her that.

Katara’s breath rattled sadly for all the implications of Zuko’s hesitation to answer. “You still want to go back?”

“It’s my home,” he said.

Katara’s hand hung between them, her fingers outstretched.

It would be so easy—too easy—to press his face into her hand. He wanted it, wanted to feel her touch, wanted to see the color of her Soul Mark instead of his scar in the mirror. He shifted his weight. Her eyes were huge and blue, filling up his entire world, meeting his gaze without reluctance.

He almost did it.

Then, there was a crash and a puff of dust. Katara jumped and her eyes darted away. Iroh and Aang slid into the natural cell together and the moment shattered. Katara rushed to Aang and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. Like Katara, the Avatar had splashes of color all over his hands. He glowered at Zuko, turning Katara slightly away as they embraced. It was as if he already knew.

Understanding how Zuko felt about being touched, Iroh rarely hugged him, but he must have been worried because he grasped Zuko into his chest and held him tightly. Zuko’s own hands came up shakily, uncertain if they should set down on his uncle’s clothed back. He glanced again at Katara and Aang and felt a bubble of jealousy for the effortless way they touched.

“Zuko,” Iroh said gently. The pressure of his hand was warm on Zuko’s shoulder even through his clothes. “It’s time we talked.”

…

Zuko couldn’t help but notice his hands as he fought Aang, as Azula fought Katara, as he gripped the reins and tried to take what he wanted for himself by force for the first time in his life. The rich red of Katara’s Soul Mark began to fade. The burst of deep cornflower blue withered too. When Zuko staggered back to his feet to find the air ripe with lightning, he looked down and found that his Soul Marks were almost grey.

His heart stopped.

Katara was on her knees in the water with Aang’s torn body in her arms. She was still alive, but… Across the chasm, her blue eyes met Zuko’s and then she looked away. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, her hair was wild, and her clothes were tattered. On her throat, her Soul Mark was as dark as a bruise.

“You’ve got to get out of here!” Iroh shouted. His powerful flames exploded all around them, pushing back Azula and the Dai Li agents alike. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can!”

Katara bent all the water beneath her. On a wave, she propelled herself and Aang through the ceiling. They were gone, leaving behind a gaping hole in more ways than one. The Dai Li converged on Iroh and he fought for a while, spraying fire and avoiding rock, but he was an old man and he was outnumbered.

Several times, Zuko almost cried out a warning, but swallowed it. His stomach churned and his skin was cold despite the heat growing inside the caverns.

Finally, Iroh surrendered. Katara and Aang had gotten far enough away. The Dai Li pressed earth around him.

Zuko took a step forward, but Iroh turned his face away just like Katara had. He couldn’t look at his nephew. Again, Zuko was grateful that he hadn’t let Iroh leave a Soul Mark on his skin. He didn’t know if he could bear to see it fade to grey as he ruined what destiny meant for him to have.

“Zuko,” Azula said from his elbow.

Zuko turned towards her. His ankle smarted from a blow he hadn’t felt until now.

It was the first time he had seen her—had just looked at his sister without fighting, without screaming, without anything—in years. Azula’s face was thinner and more angular than he remembered. Her chocolate hair and golden eyes matched his, matched their father’s. She smiled, something stretched and painted-on like a pretty doll. He had the impression of her façade being thin and ready to crack. Then, she reached out her scarred finger.

He did the same.

Their skin-to-skin touch was light and tentative.

Part of Zuko was worried that their Soul Mark would have disappeared. However, the same pale sky-blue spread beneath Azula’s finger on his skin. He saw that his own touch left a bright pink circle of unconditional love. Nothing had changed. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

Azula studied her renewed Soul Mark, plastered over the scar from their childhood.

Zuko tried to console himself with his sister’s pale Soul Mark. However, he couldn’t help but remember the deeply-trusting cornflower blue smudge on his palm or the burst of flame-red richer than any fire lily. The Dai Li led Iroh away in chains and his uncle didn’t look back. Despite what Zuko had just gained, in that moment, he couldn’t help but feel that he had lost so much more.

…

It was Sokka’s idea to secure a Fire Navy ship and hide in plain sight. There were a lot of good points in his plan, like the ship would already have supplies and food and medicine. No one would question their route and if they did, Katara would have the advantage of being at sea. There didn’t seem to be much choice left.

Zuko had betrayed them. He had betrayed her, his Soulmate.

Aang had been—

Once she had Aang settled in bed and had done her first round of healing, Katara commandeered a cabin for herself. The ship was large enough that everyone could be afforded their own space, even if she had a feeling she was going to spend most of her nights slumped at Aang’s side. She looked in the mirror and winced. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were ruined, and Zuko’s Soul Mark was grey.

For a moment, Katara just stared at it. A hole had been punched in her stomach by Aang’s apparent death and there was no more room for any other feelings—not anger at Zuko’s betrayal, not sorrow at Iroh’s capture, not happiness that Aang was still alive, nothing. She pulled at her skin, examining the Soul Mark in the candlelight. Her fingertip where she had touched Zuko was just the same as the mark on her neck, ashen and dark.

Did that mean he was dead? That his sister had killed him even after he had helped her?

Katara supposed she wouldn’t be surprised. The Fire Nation Princess appeared ruthless, even towards her own family. Like Zuko, she had no visible Soul Marks, even on her hands. Such a thing seemed impossible and cruel. She had always known that the Firelord was a monster, but to deny his children Soul Marks…

There was a hollow knock on the metal door to Katara’s cabin, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called and hurriedly wiped her dry face.

Sokka entered with a small tray balanced on one hand. “Hey,” he murmured. He set the tray down on the little nightstand and Katara saw that he had brought her dinner and a cup of tea. Both were still warm, faintly steaming. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I think Zuko is dead,” she told him and showed her faded colorless Soul Marks.

Sokka studied his sister for a moment. “How does that make you feel?” he asked finally.

Katara shrugged. “Tired.”

“You should get some sleep,” he said. “You’ve had one hell of a day.”

Katara took his hand, holding it tightly skin-to-skin. The orange of Sokka’s Soul Mark flared, burning fiercely at the contact wherever he touched her hands. Her forearm where his fingerprints were ingrained into her skin tingled brightly. The patch of grey where Zuko’s Soul Mark had been remained dark and flat. Katara sighed heavily.

Sokka pressed a kiss to her forehead, right over Gran-Gran’s Soul Mark. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

“Okay,” Katara agreed.

“Eat something and drink that tea while it’s hot,” he said.

“Okay.”

Sokka let himself out and Katara listened to his footsteps fade down the hall.

Katara plopped down on the bed, her back to the wall beneath a glowing Fire Nation tapestry. She was too tired to pull it down. The bed was soft and comfortable with many blankets and pillows. Ah, the luxury of the country that could have anything it wanted. She hadn’t been lying when she told Sokka she was tired. She was exhausted, bone-weary, hollowed out, raw and scraped inside and out.

Through the little round porthole, she could see the ocean and the moon. Tui and La were locked in their eternal waltz, the phases and the tides dancing until the world ended. Katara only hoped that the end wasn’t closer than they all realized. She rubbed her grey finger, sipped her tea, and then curled up to sleep. She was too tired to dream.

X:End:X

I’m floored by all the lovely comments people have been leaving for me. I was a little worried about throwing such an obscure Soulmate idea into the ring, but a few people have even asked me questions about it. I’m so happy! I plan to post the third chapter next week and have part of a fourth in the works.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. Red Fire

There is a potential for a fourth chapter containing smut that I have about half-written now. I plan to post it in the next two weeks or so when I find the inspiration to write some lovey-dovey smut.

X:The Headband:X

“And in a perfect world,  
I'd get to say it's just black and white.  
There's no room for grey.  
And there's a color scheme inside every heart.  
Ours won't be complete until we have yours.  
So, yellow nice to meet you.”  
—SafetySuit, Perfect Color

Zuko thought helping Azula would solve all his problems. He thought it would deliver everything he ever wanted. In a way, it had. He was finally home after so many years banished. His impossible task had been accomplished. His father had restored his honor and accepted him back to the war council where he had first spoken out of turn. Being welcomed there felt like a double-edged blade, like Ozai was hoping Zuko would slip again so he could cut him down.

Zuko bit his tongue often in those meetings, looking at the dead Soul Marks on his hands and Azula’s tiny circle of sky blue. His father could no longer demand he burn them off. Zuko kept them, even though the ashen marks hurt more than any burn scar.

There was a hole punched in Zuko’s chest.

It wasn’t just from the loss of his Soul Marks, of his colors, of his Soulmate, of his intended destiny. He felt the loss of his uncle more profoundly than anything else. The empty space where Iroh had once been ached and stung worse than any wound. For so long, Iroh had been at his side. Iroh had been the only one to speak to him gently, to teach him, to stay with him, to support him, to care about him.

And Zuko had discarded that for the father who had never and would never love him.

After only a few weeks, Zuko went to see Iroh under the cover of darkness. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He missed the smell of brewed tea, of roast duck, of clean linen and coals. He missed Iroh’s voice, his cryptic dialogues and parables. He missed hearing Iroh play the tsungi horn or breathe through his morning katas. He missed his uncle.

The guard had been willing to look the other way for a few coins. The cell was dark and cold, the bare stones wet with mildew. Moonlight filtered in through the one tiny barred window. Torches burned hot, clogging the fetid air with smoke and heat. Zuko drew his hooded cloak tighter despite himself. In the cell, Iroh hunkered like a ghost. The clothes he had worn in Ba Sing Se had been swapped for crude prison robes that were more brown than red. Iroh kept his back to the doorway, his head bowed, his grey hair and beard tangled. His breath rattled slightly in his chest.

“Hello Uncle,” Zuko said lowly. He watched Iroh’s shadowed form, his eyes burning in the smoke and stench.

Iroh tensed, but did not turn.

“I wanted to see you,” Zuko admitted. He gnawed his lower lip. “I missed you. I’m finally home, but…”

Iroh didn’t respond.

“I think my father is waiting for me to make another mistake so he can,” Zuko hesitated, tasting bitterness and worry, “send me away again.”

Iroh didn’t even look at Zuko.

“Please, Uncle,” Zuko continued. He dragged his thumb over the grey Soul Mark on his hand, the one he knew belonged to her—to Katara, his Soulmate. “I… All my Soul Marks have turned grey.”

Iroh’s back stiffened.

“But Katara’s alive,” Zuko confessed. “I think the Avatar is still alive, too.” Like Azula, he had no basis for that thought, but he could feel it. It prickled in the back of his mind like a bur.

Iroh stared straight ahead like a carved statue.

“I don’t know what to do,” Zuko mumbled. He raked a hand through his loose hair. “I need your advice. What should I do?”

Iroh did not answer.

Anger bubbled up in Zuko’s chest. “Uncle!” he shouted. He grabbed the bars, yanking on them, feeling the bite of cold rough metal on his palms. “Why won’t you say anything to me?”

Iroh was silent, unmoving, unflinching—ignoring Zuko.

“You never loved me, did you?” Zuko grit out. “It’s a good thing I never let you make a Soul Mark on me. It probably would have been nothing—just like my father!”

Iroh still didn’t turn to look at him.

The lack of response seared in Zuko's heart. It felt just like that time Ozai had touched him without leaving a color. It was worse to be neglected than hated.

“Fine,” Zuko shouted. “Stay here and rot for all I care!”

Zuko whirled on his heel, stalked past the guard, and strode into the shadows surrounding the prison. The high tropical foliage hid him easily, swallowing him up like he had never been there. Once he was sure he was out of sight of the guards, he took off running. The burn in his lungs and muscles was welcome compared to the gaping hole that he been carved out of his chest.

It wasn’t long before Zuko returned though.

Only a few weeks later, he paid off a different guard and entered Iroh’s prison cell with a plate of food filched from the palace. Azula had taunted him. Ozai still waited for him to slip up. His Soul Marks were grey and he had no others, save Azula’s. Zuko didn’t know what he should do—about any of it. So, he returned to see his uncle.

“Hello Uncle,” he greeted.

The old man was in the same position as before, as though he hadn’t moved at all. Indeed, even when he heard Zuko’s voice, he was careful not to respond.

Zuko pushed the plate of food through the bars. “It’s not your favorite, but it has to be better than what you’re eating here,” he said. He stared at Iroh’s back which moved only when he breathed. “Why won’t you look at me? Did they hurt you here? Who am I kidding—of course they do, don’t they? When I’m Firelord, I’ll get you out, I promise.”

Iroh didn’t react.

Zuko ran his thumb around and around the darkened circle Katara's touch had left on his palm what felt like a lifetime ago. The only color on his skin now was Azula’s sky-blue and the purplish bruises he earned when he sparred. “Uncle, I want… I want you to make a Soul Mark on me,” he said finally. “I miss you. I wish you were with me.”

Even that, which would have once brought Iroh to his feet with happiness, brokered no reaction.

“Please,” Zuko implored. He grasped the bars, white unmarked fingers standing out against the iron. “We can make it somewhere no one has to see. I just… I want it.” He stared at Iroh’s back, at his tangled grey hair, at the slump of his shoulders. “Uncle, please,” he begged.

Iroh didn’t turn.

Zuko snapped to his feet. The image of his uncle’s back blurred as his eyes watered. “Fine!” Zuko shouted furiously. He wanted to yell more, to scream and holler until his voice was hoarse, and Iroh was deafened. Instead, his throat closed. He couldn’t breathe. He simply choked, unable to say anything at all. Without another sound, he left and slammed the door behind him.

Like Iroh, the guard didn’t even spare him a glance.

Again, Zuko waited until he was in the shelter of the overgrown plant life before he started to run. The foliage whipped in his face and tore at his exposed arms. His feet sank in the soft sandy soil. Rainwater dripped off the wide leaves and ran down his face. At least, he told himself it was water.

X:The Beach:X

Ty Lee danced across the sand, somersaulting and cartwheeling, giggling with delight as the sun shone down on her milky skin. Her exposed body was alive with Soul Marks. Zuko had never seen Katara in so little clothing, but he was willing to bet that Ty Lee had even more Soul Marks than the Water Tribe girl. Ty Lee’s entire body looked like Katara’s hands. In her white bikini, all her love was on display.

Zuko glanced down at his grey Soul Marks and stifled his jealousy. He had no one to blame but himself for their ashen coloring. He had made his choice in Ba Sing Se. He ran his finger over the blue point of Azula’s Soul Mark on his fingertip. It was the only Soul Mark either of them had.

Wearing her own red suit and short skirt, Azula had the most skin on display ever. Her body was even more unmarked than Zuko’s. At least Zuko’s white complexion was broken up by scars.

Mai wore the most clothing out of all of them, probably as a concession to dating Zuko. She didn’t want to risk leaving a Soul Mark on him and he couldn’t ask her to. If his father knew he cared about her… Zuko fidgeted with his dark Soul Marks, imagining that they were raised like brands of scar tissue. However, his gaze strayed to the hint of pale stomach that showed above Mai’s longer skirt and long-sleeved top. Zuko thought about pressing his fingers there, his mouth, leaving a Soul Mark that he hoped would be red. If not for Katara, Zuko imagined that he and Mai could be happy together.

The memory of Katara’s tear-stained face, of his betrayed Soulmate, of his greyed Soul Marks, soured Zuko’s every thought. He gritted his teeth and found himself wishing a massive wave would blot out Ty Lee’s laughter.

Azula nudged past Mai, being sure to brush against her clothed arms and legs. She cast an unreadable glower in Zuko’s direction until he followed the girls up the beach. Regardless of Zuko’s foul mood, they had a nice day. Ember Island was a magical place, distant and separate from the rigid capital of the Fire Nation. They cut loose as they never had before until the sun set in a blaze of color.

Now, night drew close, but Zuko couldn’t bring himself to leave the warm circle of firelight. Seated on the sand with the sound of the ocean and the crackle of the flames made him feel homesick. With a jolt, he realized that combination reminded him the most of his banishment—the time on the ship with his uncle before he had found the Avatar.

“Can’t sleep?” came Ty Lee’s light voice. Her footsteps were almost silent in the sand.

Zuko glanced at her. “No,” he snapped. “I’m not tired.”

Ty Lee gracefully folded herself to sit a little way from him. In the light of the fire, Zuko scoured her visible Soul Marks. Somehow, he couldn’t seem to find any grey ones. He looked down at his own darkened hands with disgust. “Want to talk about it?” she offered, even though he wasn’t about to admit anything was bothering him.

“No,” he said flatly.

Ty Lee was quiet again, staring at the flickering flames. “Azula told me,” she said finally.

“Told you what?” Zuko asked.

Ty Lee glanced at him. Her round face was open and honest. “About everything.”

Zuko huffed. “That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“She told me about your Soul Mark, the one your father made you burn off,” Ty Lee continued. “She talked about it a lot while you were gone. She thought that pink was a coward’s color. I told her that it wasn’t.” Ty Lee stretched out her bare arms and the firelight caught on all her Soul Marks. “Pink is the mark of unconditional love. Yellow is the color of fear—fear for someone, usually.”

Zuko’s chest squeezed. He thought of leaving the spread of yellow on his father’s palm even as Ozai's grip didn’t create a Soul Mark on him. Somehow, Zuko doubted his Soul Mark was trying to tell him that he was afraid _for_ his father. Being afraid _of_ Ozai was far more likely.

“She said when she saw you again, you had two Soul Marks. What color were they?”

Zuko didn’t want to think about the colors he had lost, but he found himself telling Ty Lee regardless. “Blue,” he admitted, “and red.”

Ty Lee hummed. “What color blue?”

“It was perfect,” Zuko told her softly.

She stared at him, patient. Her grey eyes were at odds with all the colors on her skin.

“Pure and light,” Zuko said finally, “like the cloudless sky at high noon.” He looked out over the ocean, at the moon and the sea in their perpetual dance. He carefully did not let himself think of Katara.

Ty Lee nodded thoughtfully. “And the red?”

Zuko’s heart skipped and his mind turned to her regardless. He saw her as she had been that day in Ba Sing Se—beaten, her chocolate tresses wild, her blue eyes filled with tears. “Rich, deep, like blood and fire lilies. It was the color,” he hesitated, “of my Soulmate.”

Ty Lee glanced at Zuko’s hands. “Something happened to them?”

“At Ba Sing Se,” Zuko told her, “when I joined Azula… I think she’s alive, but the colors are… gone. They faded while we were still fighting. Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

Ty Lee made a strangled sound.

Zuko’s eyes snapped to her face. “What do you think that means?”

Ty Lee didn’t answer right away. When she did, it was as cryptic as his uncle. “Your aura, Zuko,” she said, “it’s very dark now. I don’t remember it ever being that dark when we were children.” Her expression was mournful, as though Zuko had lost someone he loved. In a way, he had. Ty Lee began, “I think you should—”

“Zuko! Ty Lee!” Azula called from the beach house. “Are you coming inside?”

Mai’s shadow was thick and dark behind her.

Ty Lee glanced back at Azula and then straightened up. She brushed sand off her clothes.

Zuko reached for her but pulled up just short of touching her skin.

Ty Lee watched him from the edge of her eyes, her face downturned and cast in shadow. It was impossible to read her expression.

“What were you going to say?” Zuko asked her as he lowered his hand.

“Nothing,” Ty Lee said. “Nevermind.”

X:The Avatar and the Firelord:X

When Iroh finally spoke, his voice hoarse from disuse. He explained in measured tones the history between Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin. He told Zuko how they had once shared Soul Marks, shared colors, shared everything. Sozin had applied a stigma to Soul Marks after the death of Avatar Roku so that no one else would ever know who the Firelord and his family cared for.

“But you, Prince Zuko,” Iroh continued, “you share Soul Marks with the Avatar’s group. Your Soulmate stands at the Avatar’s side. It is your destiny to help them restore balance to the world.”

Zuko looked down at his grey fingers and palm. He thought of the colors fading on that day in Ba Sing Se. He looked into his uncle’s earnest face, breathed deep, and let it out.

…

“Roku was just as much Fire Nation as Sozin was, right? If anything, their story proves anyone’s capable of great good and great evil,” Aang said to his friends. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on Katara. The ashen Soul Mark on her neck and fingertip caught his eyes as always. He knew Katara tried not to let the loss of her Soulmate bother her, but Aang knew she secretly worried that Zuko have been killed that day in Ba Sing Se.

Katara rubbed her grey finger against her palm, a nervous habit that she had developed since then. “I gave him a chance,” she said to Aang, “and he didn’t take it. Instead, he chose to fight against us.”

“It looks like he’s paid for that decision, Katara,” Sokka put in. “You’re not connected to him anymore, even if he is alive.”

“You’re right,” Katara said and rubbed her palm down the length of her silk skirt. “We can make our own destiny.”

Together, they reaffirmed their Soul Marks, holding each other under the full light of the summer sun.

X:The Day of Black Sun:X

Zuko’s forearm, where his father had once touched and left nothing, tingled like an old wound bothered by a storm. “For so long, all I wanted was for you to love me, to accept me. I thought it was my honor I wanted, but really, I was just trying to please you. You, my father, who banished me just for talking out of turn. My father who challenged me, a thirteen-year-old boy, to an Agni Kai. How could you possibly justify a duel with a child?”

“It was to teach you respect!”

“It was cruel!” Zuko shouted, his voice taking a bite that he would once never have dared. “And it was wrong.”

“Then you have learned nothing,” Ozai snarled.

Zuko looked down at his hands, at Azula’s tiny sky-blue Soul Mark on the tip of his finger. He thought of his sister on the beach, untouched, unmarked, never knowing the love of her mother or father, knowing only too briefly the unconditional love of her brother. Ozai had tortured her without ever touching her—perhaps simply by never touching her. Zuko knew how much it hurt not to know if you were genuinely loved. That uncertainty hurt even more than knowing that his own father would never love him.

“What you did to Azula and I,” Zuko said faintly, “was wrong. Soul Marks are part of us, as natural as breathing, and you burned them off your children.”

Ozai bristled, his back stiffening.

“You never even let our mother touch us and you certainly never touched us yourself,” Zuko continued. He thought of his uncle, soaking in all the Soul Marks he could. “You should never have denied us our Soul Marks.”

Ozai’s mouth was turned down into a sharp frown. He looked much as he did in Zuko’s childhood, stern and unblemished, unloved and feared.

“I’ve always known that you would never love me,” Zuko said as he drew his fingers across his ashen Soul Marks. “You knew that too.”

“Your uncle has gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Zuko said with pride. “He has.”

“Then you’re a weak fool, just like him,” Ozai bit out. “Only cowards need affirmation of love and friendship in their lives.”

Zuko’s skin tingled. He glanced down and saw, at the center of his grey marks like a single ember coming back to life, a blaze of red at the middle of his palm where Katara had once touched him. It spread like ink weaving through still water, sliding and pressing outwards against the dark grey. His Soul Mark was coming back to life. Zuko couldn’t help his smile.

Ozai noticed the color blooming on Zuko’s hands—the purity of the red, the love of his Soulmate, and the sweet rich blue, the loyalty and trust of a true friend.

“I’m going to join the Avatar and I’m going to help him defeat you.”

…

It was on the day of the invasion. During the eclipse, Katara looked at the hidden sun and felt something blaze within her. She was healing her father, hands cloaked in shimmering water. Through it, she couldn’t tell what had happened and everyone was looking at the sky. No one looked at her. She kept working, kept healing, kept fighting.

They failed regardless.

As they flew away on Appa, abandoning her father and the other adults to the Fire Nation’s clutches, she stared at her hands so the others wouldn’t see her cry. Through the tears, she wasn’t sure she believed what she was seeing. She wiped her eyes surreptitiously and looked closer. Her fingertip, which had been grey since Zuko’s betrayal in Ba Sing Se, was alive with fresh color. It was even redder than before, almost glowing with life and love.

He was still alive, she realized.

Something he had done had just pushed his destiny back in line with hers.

Their connection was restored.

However, Katara pinched the Soul Mark between her thumb and forefinger and then hid it entirely in her palm. It felt warm. Regardless of their destiny, of the red thread of fate binding them together, of their matching Soul Marks, of him being her Soulmate, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to forgive him.

…

Zuko trailed the Avatar’s group at a distance in his pilfered war balloon.

For the first time in his life, he felt clear and light. He had replaced his tight long-sleeved armor with a loose robe and shorter sleeves. His forearms were bare and the breeze felt sweet on his skin. He was ready to leave behind the Fire Nation’s traditions, the ways of his parents, the suffering he had known. He was ready to embrace his destiny, his Soul Marks, his Soulmate.

The colors—both Katara’s red and the splash of blue—returned as though they had never been gone.

Zuko studied the marks by the light of the fire burning in the balloon’s core. He still didn’t know who had left the blue Soul Mark on him, but he was going to find out and he was going to do everything in his power not to let them go dark again. He needed to help the Avatar, he needed to stand by Katara, he needed to be worthy of the Soul Marks he had been given.

He followed, heart thudding evenly in his chest.

X:The Western Air Temple:X

“I’ll make sure your destiny ends, right then and there,” Katara said ardently. Her mouth was set, her eyes were hard, and her expression was stony. Zuko had the impression of a frozen river, solid at the surface while lashing and roiling beneath, able to take lives with just a touch. Her stunning face, once so open and filled with the potential for kindness, being closed off like this sent a shiver down his spine. “Permanently,” she told him.

Zuko swallowed the lump developing in his throat, trying to find something to say. What could he say? What pretty words would make it better—would make it so he hadn’t attacked and betrayed his Soulmate badly enough that even fate had marked their relationship as good as dead? He ran his thumb habitually over the place on his palm where her touch still lingered.

Katara didn’t give him the opportunity to speak. She turned on her heel and stalked away, dark hair and blue skirt swishing. Her footsteps were heavy, like Ozai’s when he used to stalk around the palace. The door slammed behind her, but that was nothing like Ozai. His father’s anger and disappointment were quiet things, like the ice in Katara’s expression, while Katara’s anger was a scorching crackling flame. It was ironic.

Zuko stood alone in his borrowed room in this ancient temple. The roughhewn window looked out into the abyss of the canyon below. He tentatively rested his elbows on the sill and leaned out to admire the jaw-dropping view. His heart jumped with concern that the aged pagoda would crumble at his touch and send him plummeting to his death. He stepped backwards and took a deep breath.

His gaze strayed to his hands. Katara’s blood-red Soul Mark and the stripe of cornflower blue remained as vibrant as ever.

However, Zuko felt grey on the inside. Despite his apparent acceptance into their group, there was no salve for the burns he had left on these people. Though he had been forced to sear off Azula’s Soul Mark when he was a child, no one had pressed his hand into the flames and forced him to do what he did in Ba Sing Se.

He could only hope that, in time, Katara might forgive him and look at him with a fraction of the expression she had once had in those crystal catacombs. His fingers strayed to the scar on his face, recalling her offer to cover it with their Soul Mark. He wondered if she would ever be willing to touch him again.

X:The Firebending Masters:X

“Zuko!” Aang said shrilly. His eyes were wide with panic and he flailed. “My fire went out!”

“What do you want me to do?” Zuko asked. He still cradled the original flame in his cupped palms. Maybe he could pinch off a piece of the fire and pass it to Aang without the Sun Warriors noticing.

“Give me some of yours,” Aang said urgently.

Zuko looked down at the blaze in his hand, throbbing like a heartbeat. He sized up a place to peel the flames apart. It felt wrong to separate it.

Then, without warning, Aang wrapped his fingers through the crook of Zuko’s bare elbow and tugged nervously.

Zuko had the fleeting thought that Aang’s skin was warm and his fingernails were sharp. His eyes shot down to the touch, seeing a Soul Mark spread beneath Aang’s fingers. It was the same color as the flames in his hand, as the sunstone, as the original fire, so orange and gold that Zuko almost imagined that Aang’s touch burned him. He jerked away, too startled to enjoy it, and accidentally doused his own fire.

Aang grabbed Zuko, clinging nervously. He was a warm weight against Zuko’s back, huffing for breath in his panic. His bare hands gripped Zuko’s forearms on each side, short nails digging into his skin. He didn’t appear to notice or even think about the fact that he was touching Zuko skin-to-skin. Creating and leaving Soul Marks was nothing to Aang. It was accepted, expected, casual for most people in a way it would never be for Zuko.

Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled and a shudder of excitement ran through the assembled Sun Warriors below. They murmured. The drums stopped and Zuko became aware of his thundering heart. He could feel’s Aang’s heartbeat as well, knocking against Zuko’s back where the boy clung to him like a koala-panda.

The air vibrated with anticipation. Zuko caught himself holding his breath. He squirmed out of Aang’s hold so that he could stand up straight and face the yawning maw of the dark cave at the end of the big bridge. He didn’t know what was coming and he had no idea if he could face it in his diminished condition, but he was going to try his hardest.

Something stirred—Zuko felt it in his bones. Aang clung worriedly to his arm and Zuko shifted his footing to stand thoroughly in front of the young Avatar. He had the fleeting thought that if something terrible came surging out of that cave, he would throw himself on it so that Aang could escape. He would fight to his death. The new Soul Marks on his arms tingled.

Zuko hadn’t yet had a chance to look and see what color he left on Aang’s skin.

Then, with a deafening bone-chattering roar, two massive dragons emerged from the caves. They twisted and twirled around and around the bridge, enormous wings kicking up a tornado of warm air. Their eyes were large and focused, sharp teeth gleaming, whiskers standing on end. Zuko felt naked, stripped of everything in the face of those two original masters.

Aang stepped back, awed with a shred of fear. He admired the dragons, watching them fly. His fingers slipped from Zuko’s arm.

Zuko felt the loss of Aang’s touch to his core. He stared at the flying dragons, watching them trace the air surrounding the bridge. The sun was alternately blocked and revealed by the pass of the dragons’ wings.

When Aang said they should dance, Zuko thought maybe he had finally snapped under the pressure of his Avatar mantle. “What about this situation makes you think they want us to dance?”

“Well, I think they want us to do something,” Aang said. His voice was almost stolen by the rushing wind.

Zuko couldn’t argue that. It did feel like the dragons were waiting—for what, Zuko had no idea.

They moved seamlessly through the firebending steps of the Dancing Dragon. Zuko felt the energy in his body flowing, a certain lightness and peace coming through his limbs and settling in his chest. He wondered if Aang felt the same or something similar. They finished the steps, bare knuckles almost touching. Zuko let out his breath, tempted to close the space to brush his skin against Aang’s again.

The dragons landed as one, heavy bodies shaking the bridge, and studied them. Those huge golden eyes scanned them, hot breath pluming in the air. The sun beat down on them.

Zuko felt that judgement was coming. He had never been worthy in his life. Always, he had been found wanting, missing something, be it Soul Marks or honor or silence or confidence. He glanced at Aang, thinking again of what he could do to make sure the Avatar survived. When the fire came, he decided he would shield Aang with his body. He continued to watch the dragons, his eyes darting between them.

Ran opened his great mouth first, breathing a tongue of bright fire. Shaw was quick to follow.

Aang cried out when Zuko grabbed at him, bending his body around the young Avatar, but there was no need. The fire didn’t touch them, didn’t harm them, didn’t even singe their skin.

The vortex swirled around them, flying up and away into the sunny blue sky. Aang made another sound of awe, his mouth dropping open as he lifted his face to the light. Zuko cracked open his eyes and looked around, wishing yet again that he had full vision in his left eye. The colors were impossible, swirling and sparkling throughout the flames. It reminded Zuko of Katara’s hands, of the varieties and colors of Soul Marks he had seen.

Fire was life. It was love.

It was his.

X:The Boiling Rock:X

The gondola was moving. Zuko wasted precious seconds breaking the lever that operated it, feeling each strike reverberate up his heel and into his leg. It hurt and his heart was hammering. He glanced back and forth between the lever and the gondola. It was taking too long to break it—it was taking too many hits, taking too much of his strength. Maybe he wasn’t strong enough.

The prison guards were closing in on him, their eyes mean and narrow behind their helmets. The fire licked past Zuko’s exposed arms and face. His hair curled in the heat, raising goosebumps and bad memories with the proximity. Finally, the lever snapped off. Nothing could stop the gondola now.

Zuko turned his back on the guards and ran. He didn’t waste time fighting. He might already have lost too much time, but it would be worth it—he hoped—if it allowed the others to get away. He surged towards the edge where the gondola had been moored only seconds before. It was shocking how far it had gotten.

Zuko’s heart dropped at the distance between him and the gondola, between the gondola and the boiling waters below. He couldn’t stay behind. He had to try, even if it killed him. Zuko ran as fast as he could, dodging only the fire that he needed to. His sleeve caught, igniting in a whoosh. He reached the edge of the platform and leaped. The air whistled around him, but he already felt the press of gravity. The window of the gondola which he had been aiming to grab slipped away.

Then, like an answered prayer, Sokka’s hand was there. Zuko didn’t think about grabbing the lifeline. Sokka didn’t have to think about offering it.

Zuko’s forearm slammed into Sokka’s palm and he coiled his fingers in response. Zuko’s skin was sweaty and he slipped, but Sokka’s grip caught firm at his wrist. For a moment, Zuko hung there, at Sokka’s mercy. There was nothing between him and the void save Sokka’s hand. However, Sokka groaned as he strained to haul Zuko in through the window.

Before long, Zuko could grab the windowsill and take some of his own weight. Sokka still didn’t let go. He grabbed a fistful of Zuko’s prison tunic with his other hand and dragged him in. Zuko collapsed on the floor of the gondola. Suki smothered the fire on his shirt. His heart jackhammered against his ribs, his throat burned with gasping breaths, and he felt light-headed with relief. He looked up at Sokka, ready to thank him, but Sokka was already moving.

There was a new threat at the rear of the gondola.

…

It wasn’t until later, after the reunions and introductions were over, that Sokka noticed. The wrist guard that came with his stolen Fire Nation outfit had broken up the Soul Mark, but it was unmistakable on his tanned skin. The Soul Mark was in the shape of Zuko’s palm and fingers, spreading from his forearm down across his palm. The hue was something like rich chocolate undercut with shades of purple. It was an odd color, but then, Zuko was an odd guy. Sokka finished removing his uniform and discarded it into the void below the Air Temple.

When Sokka returned to the campfire, Hakoda greeted him with a tight hug. Sokka tugged aside the neck of his Water Tribe tunic and Hakoda pressed his bare palm to the Soul Mark on his son’s shoulder. The mark didn’t need reaffirming, but it was still good to feel it. Hakoda had already done the same with Katara. The steady greenish hue they associated with their father hadn’t changed.

Zuko was tending the fire, but he turned to see whose footsteps approached. He looked up quickly, noticed Sokka had returned, almost smiled, caught himself, and then snapped his gaze away as though shy. He carefully avoided Sokka’s gaze. He had changed out of his prison rags and cleaned up the minor burn on his shoulder. His regular outfit exposed his forearms and Sokka curiously sought out the Soul Mark that he had left on Zuko. The return imprint of his own life-saving grasp was a rich cornflower blue on Zuko’s pale skin.

If someone had told Sokka before they had taken their trip to the Boiling Rock that he would leave such a color on Zuko, he would have called them crazy. Now, he could see that Zuko was worthy of his trust. He had seen Zuko linger to make sure they would be able to escape, had seen Zuko jump, had seen resignation flicker on Zuko’s face when he realized he wasn’t going to make it without help.

Zuko hadn’t expected to be helped.

So much of Zuko’s white skin was unmarked, untouched, without color. Zuko only had scars.

Sokka had never really thought about what that might have been like. He crossed the fire and stood for a moment, watching Zuko coax the flames into the perfect coals for cooking supper. He set a cast iron pot over the embers to heat the water and then glanced up at Sokka from his crouched position.

“What?” Zuko asked. He tugged at his sleeve as though to hide the Soul Mark Sokka had left, but his sleeve was too short.

“Nothing,” Sokka said. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Zuko said, even though it was the furthest thing from that.

Sokka didn’t argue. Instead, he held out his hand to help Zuko up.

Zuko’s golden eyes lingered on the Soul Mark he had left on Sokka’s forearm, broken only by the wrist guard. Anyone in the Water Tribe would have known what Sokka’s outstretched hand meant, but Zuko hesitated. He looked uncertain and confused. He fidgeted with the Soul Mark on his palm.

“Come on, man,” Sokka said when the moment went on too long. “Reaffirm it.”

“Huh?”

“Put your hand over the Soul Mark,” Sokka said slowly. “Fill it in. Reaffirm it.”

Zuko hastily got to his feet. He started to reach out, hesitated, and then began to lower his hand. “But—”

Sokka huffed a breath, frustrated. “You don’t want to?” he said.

“No!” Zuko said quickly. “I do, I do. I just…”

Sokka held out his hand again, more patient this time. Looking at Zuko’s skin, he could see only four colors and one was so tiny that he could have missed it. Zuko was so untouched.

It was sad.

Zuko fit his fingers into the Soul Mark on Sokka’s forearm timidly, his touch as light as a butterfly-bee’s.

Sokka squeezed in response, sandwiching their skin together. It always kind of tingled to get a Soul Mark for the first time or to reaffirm one and Sokka smiled at the sensation. Zuko looked completely taken in, almost drunk at the feeling of Sokka’s skin against his. The Soul Mark filled in where the wrist guard had broken it.

Zuko felt warm to his core, deeper and more fulfilling even than his inner fire. He looked up at Sokka’s face, grinning foolishly, and immediately moved to stifle the feeling. “Sorry,” he said and started to pull away.

Sokka gripped him tightly, smiling in response. He didn’t say anything, just held the contact for a moment longer and saw the casual touch move through Zuko like a shiver. Only then did he loosen his grip and let go.

Zuko watched Sokka return to the group, slotting himself in beside Aang and Chit Sang without looking back. Zuko remained standing stupidly by the fire, staring at the new Soul Mark on his skin. His heart felt light, a fluttering thing full of hope and peace for the second time in his life.

X:The Southern Raiders:X

Azula had come for them at the Western Air Temple. Zuko did what he could to hold her off. For once, it felt like he and his sister were evenly-matched. Then, they were falling. Zuko turned in the air, watching the distant ground rush hungrily up to meet him. He couldn’t bear to turn his head and look at his sister. He didn’t want to watch her fall.

Then, with a groan, Appa flew beneath Zuko. He reached out, the air whistling in his ears. He only half-expected someone to take his hand and pull him to safety, but Katara responded. Her fingers locked around his and pulled him into the saddle. He landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Her ruby-red Soul Mark on his hand had spread and deepened.

…

Yon Rha would live another day or another year. It wasn’t their concern. Katara had held his life in her hands and chosen to let it him keep it.

They left the desolate little fishing town behind and flew home. It continued to rain on the way, the dense and soaking downpour of a summertime storm on the coast. Soon, Appa was drenched and unhappy. He flew low, groaning under the weight of his sodden fur and the breakneck pace they had used since leaving early that morning. Despite the warmth of his inner fire, Zuko’s skin was cold and his heart ached.

Katara rode on Appa’s head with her back to him. She stared straight ahead, loose hair plastered to her back. Her gaze pointed forward, but unseeing.

“We should find someplace to stop for a while,” Zuko ventured.

“I’m fine,” Katara said too sharply.

“Appa needs to rest and this weather isn’t doing anyone any favors,” Zuko told her. “The storms in this area pass quickly. I’m asking you to wait for an hour, maybe less.”

The bison grumbled again.

Katara mulled the idea over for a moment before relenting, if for no other reason than she felt bad for Appa. She picked out a tiny island dotted with palm trees and guided Appa to land on its beach. Zuko quickly roped several palms together to make a kind of shelter from the soaking rains. Katara bent the water from Appa’s coat, then from herself. Almost as an afterthought, she dried Zuko too.

Zuko didn’t bother to make a fire, but he did knock down some coconuts and crack them open. Katara took hers without complaint, drank the milk, and then picked at the inner meat with her fingers.

Zuko wasn’t hungry either. He wondered what choice he would make if he could confront the person responsible for his mother’s disappearance. Would he be as weak or as strong as Katara? Was he even sure which choice was the right one? What was it like to have the opportunity for revenge and not take it?

He stared down at his hands, tracing the Soul Marks on his palm and fingers with each opposite hand. The hues of Katara’s deep red now spread across his entire palm and part of his wrist, no longer just the scant line or smudge of her fingers. She had gripped him and held tight when she saved his life. On his other hand, Sokka’s cornflower blue stood out starkly half-way up his forearm. Aang’s hands had left golden-orange prints around each of his elbows. By comparison, the tiny sky-blue point of Azula’s on his burned index finger looked like a mistake. He traced it regardless, melancholy.

“You do that often,” Katara remarked.

Her voice startled him. Zuko jolted, sending his half-eaten coconut rolling across the sand and out into the rain.

“Sorry,” she said habitually.

“It’s fine,” he told her. He made an effort to stop tracing his Soul Marks physically, but still kept his eyes lowered to them.

The rain pattered all around them, whispering on the sand and on the leaves of the palms overhead. The sound of the storm didn’t quite drown out the crash of the waves on the distant beach. Appa’s hot breath was steady and deep behind them as he dozed. Katara was subdued for long time and Zuko thought she had forgotten about him when she spoke again.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Touch them,” she said, “and stare at them.”

Zuko curled his hands, folding his palms and fingers over the colors as though to hold them in. “Because they’re important to me,” he confessed and then winced.

There was a time when Katara would have thrown that in his face, irate and hurt, but now, when she asked the same question, it came out wearily. “Are they? I wouldn’t think so. After you betrayed us at Ba Sing Se, I saw my Soul Mark go dark, like you were dead.”

Zuko’s throat tightened and he struggled to swallow. “I know,” he agreed. “I saw it too.”

“But then the color came back,” Katara said. She looked down at her multi-colored hands. Her Soul Marks were many, but the place where she had gripped Zuko now dominated her palm.

“On the Day of Black Sun,” Zuko told her, “I stood up to my father. I told him that I was leaving to help the Avatar defeat him. When I confronted him, I saw the colors come back.”

Katara glanced at him from the side of her eye. Her mouth opened, but then she closed it and shook her head.

“What is it? You can ask me anything,” he offered.

“It’s just… why do you have so few Soul Marks, Zuko?”

His throat was as dry as a desert despite the rainfall. He worked to swallow, staring out at the rain and the sea. Unbidden, he worried the tip of his burned finger over Azula’s Soul Mark but the nerves in his skin were damaged and the sensation was less than his other fingers. “It’s a long story,” he said finally.

Katara reclined on her hands, stretching out her legs in front of her. “Well, it looks like we have time,” she said. Then, softly, she added, “If you don’t mind sharing.”

Zuko nodded thoughtfully. Then, he began to explain from the very beginning why his skin was so untouched. He told her about the traditions of Fire Nation Royalty and their dislike of the proof of love, exposed for anyone to take advantage of. He told her how his father had wanted to throw him away as a baby, how that had only gotten worse with age. He told her about the Soul Mark he and Azula had secretly made and protected until their father had forced them to reach into the flames and burn it off. He told her about Ozai grabbing his arm to stop him from falling and leaving not a single Soul Mark behind.

“Yours was my first Soul Mark since childhood,” Zuko confessed. He rubbed his thumb over his palm, imagining that the warmth he felt was hers. “And then Sokka’s… I didn’t know what he meant when he asked me to reaffirm it. I had never done that before. When Aang touched me, like it was nothing, I was so shocked.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I refused to let my uncle touch my skin. I was terrified that he wouldn’t leave a Soul Mark, just like my father.”

Katara cried silently beside him, her narrow shoulders trembling.

Zuko didn’t know if she was crying for his story or for the events of the day. He wasn’t sure it even mattered.

He talked for a while, endlessly, telling her the minute details of his life that he had never voiced before. He thought he would cry too, but the tears never came. He felt empty when the rain began to taper off. He had shared everything with her and left nothing hidden. He couldn’t bear to look at her when he finished, when the storm passed.

Appa climbed to his feet and gave a shake. He was ready to get back to Aang.

“Come on,” Katara said. She hopped easily in the saddle from so much practice.

Zuko struggled a moment, trying to decide if he should jump or climb.

She held out her hand to help him up. “Let’s go back.”

Zuko hastily let her. Their palms slid together and Zuko’s skin tingled. Her skin was cool and soft compared to his. He resisted the urge to keep holding on. He clambered back into Appa’s saddle and returned to their makeshift home where the others were waiting. Katara went off on her own for a while. As the sun set, she told Zuko that she forgave him. When she hugged him, even over his clothes, his heart felt alight.

X:The Phoenix King:X

“Fighting the Fire Lord is going to be the hardest thing we’ve ever done together, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Aang declared. His voice was a little too cheerful considering the treacherous subject matter, but that was Aang through and through. He had always been positive in the face of overwhelming odds.

Zuko hung back, watching and listening as the little group psyched themselves up to face his father. They were all wearing their beach outfits and had their Soul Marks on display. It was the first time Zuko had seen them in almost their entirety.

Aang’s faded grey arrows were beautiful in a sad way, but he was splashed all over with Katara’s bright peach, Sokka’s rich cobalt, Toph’s sweet amber, and Suki’s steady green. He had other Soul Marks that didn’t seem to belong to anyone in their group. Like Katara and Sokka, he loved freely and openly. His hands were covered in gloves of color.

Suki had the least Soul Marks and a few of hers were grey with loss. Zuko could pick out what he assumed was the big pink hand of her father and the smaller orange fingers of her mother. Sokka left a strong red bloom on her upper shoulder where he usually rested his cheek when he hugged her. Toph’s touch was bright green, Aang’s was a peachy as it was with Katara, and Katara’s was a warm ocean-blue.

Toph was one of the only people Zuko knew with Soul Marks on her face. She had kisses on her cheeks and forehead. Sokka’s Soul Mark was a palm of pink on her arm alongside Suki’s mellower magenta hue. Katara left a bright sisterly smudge of white-gold and Aang’s color was on the edge of rose-red. Maybe he would grow to love her, maybe the color would turn towards friendship. Toph and Aang were too young to tell yet.

“Get over here, Zuko,” Katara called. “Being part of the group also means being part of group hugs.”

He jolted, startled.

Suki and Toph made a space for him in their circle. He hesitated before stepping to join them. Suki and Toph put their arms around his back and he almost cursed himself for not removing his shirt. His clothing was in the way of their touches and he was at the point that he just wanted to know if they cared for him. Apprehensively, his hands hovered without touching their bared skin.

Toph jostled him and his palm pressed to the middle of her back with surprise.

“What color is it?” Toph asked.

Zuko flushed and turned his head to look. He had left a Soul Mark of soft orange just a shade off from the sun. He told her, “Orange.”

“Orange?” she repeated. “That’s it?”

Katara glanced at Toph’s back. “It’s pretty, Toph, like the sunrise.”

“That’s better,” Toph muttered.

“What about me?” Suki asked.

Zuko looked nervously at her back and saw a strong plum shade at the base of her neck. “Purple?”

“Don’t be so modest,” Sokka said with a flap of his hand. “It’s definitely royal purple.”

Suki lifted a brow.

Zuko didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. He ducked his head, embarrassed.

“Can we?” Suki asked.

Zuko glanced at her and saw that her hand was hovering near his elbow.

His throat was dry and tight. He could only nod.

As one, Suki and Toph touched him, smoothing their palms over the bare skin of his forearms just beneath Aang’s Soul Mark. Suki’s touch bloomed in a bright explosion of coral, something between steady chocolate and pink. Toph’s was aquamarine, standing out brightly on his pale skin. Zuko let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

He stepped a little closer to them all, suddenly unwilling for this to end. Toph squeezed him with her strong arm and Suki ran a hand soothingly down his clothed back. Directly across from him, Aang smiled. Katara and Sokka both looked at Zuko with open expressions, smiling encouragingly. He might never have had an opportunity to gain Soul Marks before, but now they were ready to paint him with all the colors of love he could handle.

X:The Old Masters:X

Iroh’s tent was warm and close. Zuko’s lungs felt the same, making it hard to draw breath. He was overwhelmed with emotion before he even saw his uncle. He hadn’t seen Iroh's face since his terrible betrayal in Ba Sing Se. That felt like a lifetime ago. He was different now. Apologies gushed from Zuko and hot tears ran down his cheeks. He was so afraid that after everything that had happened, he wouldn’t be able to reclaim one of the few things that mattered to him.

What if Iroh didn’t—couldn’t—forgive him?

Then, as though they had never been apart, Iroh’s arms wrapped around him. Iroh crushed Zuko to him, squeezing the breath and fear from his chest, and Zuko crumbled into his embrace. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his uncle until this moment. The tears continued to run down his face and apologies continued to squirm out of his lips. He couldn’t believe that it was so easy, that Iroh still cared about him, that he wasn’t being discarded like so much trash.

“Zuko,” Iroh said gently. He reached as though to take Zuko’s face in his hands, but stopped before he could touch.

Zuko’s chest tightened. Without preamble, he shrugged his robe and shirt aside, baring the joint at his neck and shoulder. He didn’t speak—he couldn’t. What if after all this time Iroh didn’t want to leave a Soul Mark on Zuko? Or worse, what if his touch left nothing, just like with his father?

However, his worries were unfounded.

Iroh placed his palm on the proffered skin, as milk-white and untouched as the day Zuko was born. Beneath his warm gentle palm, the pink Soul Mark spread. Iroh loved Zuko unconditionally as his own son. Tears burned freshly in Zuko’s eyes. Lu Ten’s grey Soul Mark was still on Iroh’s shoulder, but Iroh opened the other side of his robe.

Zuko’s hand shook as he placed it on his uncle’s bared skin.

X:Into the Inferno:X

Katara’s hands left smears of Soul Marks on Zuko’s chest and abdomen as she worked desperately to heal him. The hue of red was so dark and rich that it almost looked like blood against his pale skin. The sight swam in Katara’s teary vision. She worked fervently, feeling out the damage and pulling the bits of him that she could back together. When he finally took a deep breath and opened his eyes, she almost sobbed.

Her hands remained pressed to his skin, fitted between the halves of his ruined shirt. She couldn’t stand to let go of him, to put space between them, to move away. She ran her hands across his torso lightly, watching the Soul Marks spring up in the wake of her touch. They diminished slightly as she moved, following her touch like water being pulled around the bottom of a boat, spreading and vanishing in turn. It wouldn’t do, after all, to be able to completely cover someone’s body in the same Soul Mark. Though if there was ever someone she wanted to do that to, it was Zuko.

Zuko laid his palm over her wrist, feeling her skin beneath his hand. He rasped with his thumb. Katara helped him to his feet and they stood together to the backdrop of Azula screaming and crying. Tomorrow, there would be a thousand things to do, but in this moment, they merely stood shoulder-to-shoulder, skin-to-skin, and looked out at the blood-red horizon.

X:After:X

Zuko didn’t know what he expected to happen after their ragtag group defeated his father and saved the world as they knew it. He knew his friends would go back to their homes and families. He figured he would have to stay in the Fire Nation Capital, taking up the mantle that had been tarnished by one hundred years of warfare, cruelty, and violence. He knew his uncle would stay if he asked, as would Aang and Katara and Sokka and Toph and Suki, but he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t ask them to stay for him.

What if they said no?

It was a lovely summer morning, bright and cloudless but not too hot or humid. It was a good day for travel. Zuko shook off his attendants and went to see his friends depart with a heavy heart. Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara would be returning to the Southern Water Tribe while Aang was going with them for a breather. Suki and Toph were loading up an ostrich-horse drawn carriage to return to the Earth Kingdom together.

Zuko was surprised to find Katara giving out hugs like she wasn’t going. He didn’t expect her to stay. He hadn’t even asked.

“Be safe!” Katara shouted as Appa took flight with her brother and father and the girls' carriage pulled away. She stood with Zuko on the front steps of the palace, waving until they were all out of sight. Then, she lowered her colorful hand and sighed heavily. Her thick hair was wild in the heat, curling and waving around her cheeks.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Zuko said softly. “I know you wanted to go home.”

Katara held out her hand, awash with the rose-red hue of their Soul Mark. “I couldn’t leave you, not yet,” she said. “Besides, home is where the heart is and if this mark is to be believed, my home will be with you.”

Zuko’s throat tightened. “You mean that?”

Katara smiled broadly at him. “Of course.”

He slid his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers. She gave his hand a little squeeze.

From behind one of Zuko’s attendants came puffing into the courtyard. He stopped when he saw Zuko, busily straightened his robe, and then marched over. “Fire Lord Zuko,” he said breathlessly. “There you are.”

Zuko groaned under his breath. After so long banished and then on the road, the stifling presence of all the attendants and servants in the palace felt ridiculous. Beside him, Katara chuckled lightly and his chest warmed. He tugged her a little closer and said sternly, “Would you mind giving us some privacy? I’m with my Soulmate.” The words rolled off Zuko’s tongue and tasted sweet.

The attendant sputtered, looked between them, and then retreated hastily.

“You didn’t have to tell him that,” Katara said. As always, she was aware of their differences, even if they felt far fewer now than when she had first met Zuko.

“This is the first time a Fire Lord has had visible Soul Marks in over one hundred years. I couldn’t even find record of one having a Soulmate,” Zuko told Katara, “And mine is from the Water Tribe. I think it’s better that they just get that outrage and backward-mindedness over with all at once.”

Katara’s fingers skated along his jaw, the pressure light and soft.

He turned to look at her immediately, nervous that he had pushed some unknown boundary.

Katara rose onto her toes, her hands resting lightly on his covered shoulders. She pressed a tender kiss to his mouth. Zuko brought his arms around her immediately, holding her close and tight. He couldn’t help but tangle his fingers in her thick hair, angling his chin to deepen the kiss. He wondered if their Soul Mark would show on their mouths. Such a thing was uncommon, but so was their destined color.

Katara drew away with a gasp, her eyes heavy-lidded. Her mouth was swollen from his kiss, lips parted and moist, her cheeks flushed. She had his handprint on her neck where his thumb had once left the smudge that started all this. He leaned in and pressed his mouth there too. She giggled, tangling a hand through his loose dark hair.

“Zuko,” she said.

He answered her kisses.

X:End:X

So, my explanation on this whole Soulmate AU: Whenever someone touches another person skin-to-skin, if they love them in any way [familial love, friendship, romantic, true love, etc] it leaves a color on their skin. The marks can be one-sided, but are mostly reciprocal. Unconditional or familial love is usually pink. Romantic or true love is a hue of red. If someone dies, the color is leeched out of their Soul Mark, leaving it grey. [I know Aang’s tattoos are technically blue, but let me have it. I’m colorblind and they look grey to me.] In the case of Zuko and Katara, Zuko veered so wildly off his destiny that it ‘killed’ his Soul Mark with her, but the color returned when he got back on his path.

As I said at the beginning, I did look up some meanings behind colors in psychology, but I didn’t adhere to it too strongly. If there was a specific meaning behind the colors, I tried to bring it across. The basics I kept in mind for writing was: red was romantic love, pink was unconditional love, orange was caring, yellow was fear [of or for that person], green was support, blue was trust, purple was wisdom, brown was reliability, white was purity, and black was a secret. Other than that, it is up to your interpretation. I didn’t want this to become an essay on the meaning of colors or love. I just wanted to write a Soulmate AU which completely spiraled out of my control and turned into this monster.

Like I said, there is a potential for a fourth chapter containing smut that I have about half-written now. I plan to post it in the next two weeks or so when I find the inspiration to write some lovey-dovey smut.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	4. The Perfect Color

Phew, well, everyone it's been a ride. This is the final [final] chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed this little rewrite. Thanks for reading what really was just meant to be a single chapter Soulmate idea. This chapter jumps the rating up into mature so if you're not interested in that, the sweet lovemaking starts about halfway through. [It's pretty tame smut by my standards.]

X:After:X

“ _Yellow_ nice to meet you.  
Do you know that you just _blue_ my mind?  
It was the perfect conversation, I think that I _red_ about one time.  
And I told a _white_ lie when I told you, I've never been _green_ with envy you.  
You are the _perfect color_.”  
—SafetySuit, Perfect Color

Staying at the Fire Nation Capitol together, it wasn’t long before Zuko and Katara fell into a simple routine. Zuko insisted Katara have her own chambers in the palace and he kept to his own rooms. Though it was plain to see that Zuko was courting her, he wasn’t ready to take the next step and she didn’t press him. Instead, Zuko rose with the sun and did his morning katas. By the time he finished, Katara was usually half-awake and dragging herself down for breakfast. They ate together and then Zuko went off to tend his duties as Firelord.

“What do you do all day while I’m busy?” Zuko asked her over dinner.

She smiled mysteriously and sipped her cold tea. Her long dark hair was pulled into an elaborate twist to keep it off the back of her neck. Dressed in Fire Nation reds and golds to match their Soul Mark, Zuko thought he was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked cheekily.

“I would,” Zuko told her. He swallowed, trying to wet his dry lips. “That’s why I asked.”

Instead of answering, Katara reached across the table and ran her fingertip over the ridge of his knuckles. His mouth turned into a desert at her slight touch. His eyes fastened to the ribbon of pure loving red that spread beneath her finger and then diminished when she drew her hand away. Her Soul Mark seemed to be solidifying on his palm and wrist where she had once grasped him to save his life when he fell from the Western Air Temple. Though she was able to create others with just a touch, they didn’t stay long, moving beneath her fingers like a fish through water.

She withdrew her hand completely and took another bite of dinner, smiling impishly.

He had completely forgotten his question.

It took Zuko a while to learn what Katara did during the daylight hours, but soon he had reports flittering across his big desk. The Master Waterbender went into the capitol city with a small platoon of guards. Katara was strong and capable, but she wasn’t a fool. Being the Firelord’s Soulmate put a target on her back and she knew people would look to harm her so that they could hurt Zuko by proxy. Regardless, she spent her days healing and tending the sick. Sometimes, she ventured out into the caldera and worked on rerouting water to their blighted crops.

Then, she came back to the palace in time for dinner. They ate together without servants attending them. Zuko couldn’t bear the constant fussing, even though he knew it was tradition. He had had enough tradition to last a lifetime, he thought as he looked down at the visible Soul Marks on his hands and arms. Iroh’s pink palm print on his shoulder felt warm, tingling, and Zuko wondered how he had gone so long without it. After supper, Zuko and Katara headed out to the training grounds to spar. They had always been evenly-matched and now was no exception.

Zuko loved sparring with Katara. Unlike his soldiers and instructors, she didn’t pull any of his punches and he didn’t have to worry about holding back either. One thing he couldn’t quite get used to was how much Katara talked while fighting. She chattered almost constantly, telling him about her day even as she lined up an ice dagger to hurl at his face. Zuko often dodged by the skin of his teeth, panting as he tried to respond. It was a different kind of challenge to keep the conversation going without letting his guard down or missing an opening.

“I was thinking,” Katara said as she pulled a wave of water from the nearby stream and swept it across the training grounds behind him.

Zuko crouched, coiled, prepared to spring over the wave when it came closer. “Yeah?”

“I want to offer your sister a Soul Mark,” she said, “from me.”

That was all it took for Katara to sweep him off his feet—literally. Zuko froze, his mouth agape, just staring at her, and the wave took him out at the knees. He landed on his back with a whoof of expelled air and stared at the fading sunset above him for a moment, catching his breath.

“Firelord Zuko!” a guard said urgently. His armor clattered as he hastily straightened and made to come closer. “Are you alright?”

Zuko lifted his hand and flapped it dismissively. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he called. “It was a lucky shot.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Katara said. “You froze.” She returned the water to the stream, crossed the wet flagstones, and stood over him, looking down with her hands on her hips. She wasn’t half as concerned as the guard about his abrupt defeat, but she didn’t gloat either. She must have been thinking about Azula for a long time. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?” she asked instead.

Zuko heaved himself into a seated position, legs stretched out in front of him. He was soaked, but the Fire Nation was a warm tropical place. It felt kind of nice to have the cool water plastering his robes to his overheated body. He reached up to loosen his topknot, letting his damp hair flop down against his cheeks.

Katara offered her hand to pull him up.

Zuko hesitated only an instant before letting his wet skin slide against hers. Her fingers fit perfectly back into the Soul Mark on his palm and forearm as she tugged him up. He stretched once he was on his feet again, feeling the lingering ache in his back where he had struck the stones. “Walk with me?” Zuko said softly.

Katara nodded and smoothly bent the water from his clothes and hair.

“You can wait here,” Zuko called to the guards. “We’ll just take a walk through the inner gardens. I’ll check in again in half an hour.”

The guards nodded, snapping to attention.

Katara took his hand, twisting her fingers between his, as they set off. The warm touch of her skin, so easily given and so easily returned, almost made him lose his train of thought again. He had lived so much of his life without being touched, even casually, especially with love. Every time Katara touched his skin, he found his thoughts derailing over and over. He wondered if he’d ever get used to her touch—he wondered if he even wanted to. Some things, he imagined, he would want to always feel like the first time.

They settled in his mother’s favorite garden. A lone cherry tree stood guardian over the small pond. Turtle-ducks nested there every spring, but it was mid-summer now and the water was still. The reflection of the fading sunset was pretty, but soon the courtyard would be filled with moonlight.

Unbidden, Zuko found himself thinking of the girl who had sacrificed herself to revive the Moon Spirit. He knew her name was Yue. She was one of Sokka’s Soul Marks, though it hadn’t quite turned grey upon her death. Instead, the color was more like silver, glittering with mingled blues and whites in certain lights as though Yue was still alive. In a way, Zuko supposed she still was.

He glanced down at the Soul Marks on his bare arms, cataloging the colors once again as was his habit. He was starting to look like Katara, his bare hands and arms covered with little splashes of color though the ones left by his friends and Soulmate dominated most of his white skin. Katara gave his hand a squeeze, as though she knew what he was thinking.

They were out of earshot of the guards and Katara turned fully to face him, though she didn’t release his hand. “So, what do you think?”

“Do you really think you’ll leave a Soul Mark on Azula?” Zuko asked.

Katara lifted her bare shoulder in a little shrug. “I’m not sure,” she said, “but she’s your sister and you love her unconditionally. I’d like to think, since we’re Soulmates, that I’d grow to love her too. I thought it might help her… you know, knowing that someone else loved her.”

Zuko leaned in to press his lips to the span of his Soul Mark on her neck and part of her shoulder. “It might, but… what if you don’t leave a color? What if you never grow to love her?”

Katara’s eyes were huge and luminous. She took a deep breath and let it out patiently. “Zuko,” she began and gently cupped his face in her palm. “I know that the way you grew up, what happened with your father and mother, has given you this constant fear that people won’t leave Soul Marks on you. I know you’re trying to protect Azula from that disappointment, but…” She showed him her color-smudged hands. The ashen kiss of her mother lay on her exposed midriff. “I want you to know that those experiences are the minority. Most people love freely in one way or another.”

Zuko glanced from her arms to his own. He had more colors on his skin now than he had ever thought possible.

“I wouldn’t have offered,” Katara continued, “if I thought I wouldn’t give a Soul Mark to Azula. I listen to the way you talk about her and I think—if things had been different—that we would already be friends.”

The thought tripped around in Zuko’s heart. Oh, how he wished things had been different. He often thought of that day in Ba Sing Se. He wished that, instead of joining his sister and fighting the Avatar, that he had taken Azula’s hand and gone with Aang to defeat Firelord Ozai. He worried the scar on his fingertip where the tiny moon of Azula’s Soul Mark waited.

“It’s not my decision to make,” Zuko said finally. “It’s between you and Azula.”

Katara smiled warmly and rose onto her toes to press a little kiss to Zuko’s lips. “You won’t be let down,” she said assuredly. “Neither will Azula.”

Zuko swallowed thickly. His hands came up effortlessly to rest on her hips and around her back, holding her close. He was always surprised how natural touching her felt.

Katara lingered in the circle of his arms. Her palms pressed flat to his chest over his robe and her weight leaned trustingly into him. She was so close that he could feel the heat of her body, feel the press of her curves, the steady thump-thump of her heart. He could smell the sweat on her clothes and the soap she used on her thick hair and the perfume that always seemed to hang on her dark skin. Katara moved her hands up his covered chest, looping her hands behind his head and tangling them into his long loose hair. He groaned when her fingernails scratched his scalp.

Katara smiled warmly. “It’s been a long day,” she said. “Do you want to go inside?”

Zuko tightened his grip on her. If they went back inside, she would retire to her rooms and he would go to his. He wasn’t ready to part with her yet. “No,” he murmured. He dipped his chin and kissed her sweetly. “Stay, please. Just for a little longer.”

Katara searched his face a moment, her blue eyes heavy-lidded and so close that they seemed to take up the entire world. “We don’t have to go our separate ways, Zuko,” she said softly. She lifted onto her tiptoes again, her cheek bumping along his as she whispered in his ear, “You could invite me back to your room with you.”

Zuko’s breath skipped, a shuddering rattling thing in his chest.

Katara quickly pulled back to look at him, assuming from the tension in his body that she had upset him. “Only if you want to,” she said hastily. “You don’t have to—”

Zuko silenced her with a kiss.

Katara gave herself over to his lips and tongue easily. She made a soft sound as she twined her fingers into his hair and pulled him close. Every line of her body was pressed against his and he burned like an ember everywhere they touched. Katara licked his lower lip and Zuko welcomed her inside, drawing her into a dance that he was only just learning the steps to. Luckily, he was good at learning new things. He already knew exactly what she liked. He nibbled the edge of her mouth, nipping her skin and giving her full lower lip a firm suck. Katara melted in his arms, her weight dragging at him.

He broke away. “Katara?”

She hummed, her eyes only half-open with bliss. She looked drunk on his touch, on his kiss, on him.

“Will you come with me?” Zuko whispered. Even though she had suggested it, he was half-worried that she would decline. “To my room?”

She smiled and it was a slow lazy thing. She thought for a moment, tapping her colorful finger to her mouth. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she said.

Zuko kissed her again, feeling a tremor spread from that point to the tips of his toes. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of kissing her. He couldn’t bear to let go of her so he tugged her flush to his side and wrapped his arm around her waist. His palm rested against her bare back and side. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they made their way through the moonlit garden and into the palace.

“Let everyone know that I’m back inside,” Zuko told the nearest guard, “and that I’m retiring to my rooms. I should only be disturbed for an absolute emergency. Understood?”

“Yes, Firelord Zuko,” the guard said briskly.

It was clear he was doing his very best not to goggle at them. The guards and servants were oddly invested in Zuko’s relationship with Katara, which Katara supposed was fair after the scandal of her being both Zuko’s Soulmate and from the Water Tribe. However, in only a few short weeks, the people of the Fire Nation had settled down and shown their support of the courtship. After all, who were they to argue with the destiny of Soul Marks? Katara had heard whispers and bets placed in the halls and streets over how long it would take Zuko to accomplish each milestone. She had a warm feeling some people were going to be collecting their winnings tonight.

Katara stifled a giggle at the guard’s expense.

Zuko opened the great wooden door, closed it solidly behind them, and threw the bolt.

Then, Katara flung herself at him. She jumped partway up his body, trusting him to hold and support her. He gave a little undignified sound before locking his hands around her thighs to stabilize her. His back bumped the wall as he steadied himself under her sudden weight. Katara dug her hands through his silken hair, tilted his head back to meet her higher vantage point, and then kissed him soundly. Zuko’s fingers twitched and trembled with the desire to touch her in return, but the need to keep her from falling kept his hands still. He whined lowly, the sound vibrating with a need that went straight to Katara’s heart.

She drew back slightly to look at him, her warm breath pluming on his face. Zuko’s cheeks were pink from the sound he had made, but he met her gaze steadily. He wasn’t ashamed of his need for her, his desire for her, his love for her. Katara combed the loose strands of his hair out of his eyes and away from his scar. He trembled at each stroke, his warm hands gripping her thighs tighter and tighter. Zuko’s nose bumped hers when he moved in for another kiss. His entire body felt hot, burning with an inner fire that would have once frightened her. Now, she only rested her forehead against his, breathing lightly, sharing his air.

“Zuko,” she murmured.

His eyes met hers, so close that they filled up her world like the sun.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she assured him. “I’ll still be here in the morning—with you—if you’re not ready.”

Zuko pecked a little kiss to the edge of her mouth, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I was going to say the same thing to you,” he said softly.

Katara smiled. Resting her palms on his shoulders, she squirmed enough that he set her feet back on the floor. She looked him over, his visible skin smudged and touched with colors. He was a far cry from the angry boy that had first arrived on her southern shores, the confused youth that had fought for any semblance of love in Ba Sing Se, and the weary man who had come to her at the Western Air Temple. Though he was more self-assured now, marked with colors of love and trust, he still bore the scars his father had inflicted since childhood—both quiet and loud, seen and unseen, physical and mental. Katara kissed the scar on his face, her lips lingering softly.

“Undress me?” she asked when she drew back.

Zuko smiled slightly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Katara chuckled.

Zuko took her hand and led her through the flow of rooms to his innermost chamber.

Katara had been in his bedroom before, but not for long and not under these conditions. The furniture was all dark and richly-carved wood, inlaid in places with precious stones or metals. The large four-poster bed was a stunning sight, elaborately carved with fire-breathing dragons, swirling trees, and high mountains all over. Ornate tapestries hung on the walls bearing fantastical and far-away sights. The colorful images were Zuko’s, recently-added since assuming the throne and requested from a local weaver to show the images of his travels. There were the arctic shores of the poles, the secret garden where the Moon and Ocean Spirits lived, the inner tea shops of Ba Sing Se, the Western Air Temple, the vast and glorious ocean lit with a stunning sunset. She had once spent hours staring at the tapestries, picking out secret details that only Zuko would know to look for.

Now, she found her gaze drawn to his bed in a different way. The mattress was large and lavish, made up neatly and with more pillows than she dared count. The coverlet was a light gold with subtle red embroidery picked across its surface. Close inspection revealed that the pattern was that of a tight ocean wave. Like most beds in the Fire Nation, it was draped and canopied with mosquito netting. The windows were open to let in a cool night breeze and the view of the caldera below was stunning. Countless twinkling lights represented the citizens in their homes.

Katara had once imagined taking a man for the first time in the snow-buried huts of her home village, stripping off her parka and sliding beneath the thick furs before the chill could bite her exposed skin. She had imagined leaving a variety of red Soul Marks in kisses and caresses, mourning the loss of them when she dressed for the arctic weather the next day. Now, it was easy to leave her girlhood fantasy behind. Zuko was right there, his golden eyes searching her face for any doubts, and he was an honest-to-goodness Prince. Katara’s younger self would be happy.

“Katara?” Zuko asked.

Katara glanced at him over her shoulder. Despite her earlier question, she untied the waistband of her wrap-around skirt and loosened the shirt from her shoulders. She slipped the top down her back and let both puddle on the floor at her feet. In only her short leggings and breast bindings, she parted the netting with one hand and beckoned. She climbed onto his bed, marveling at the softness, and sank onto the cool silk coverlet with a sigh. She burrowed her face into his pillow and groaned. His bed was even better than the one in her chambers, not that she was that surprised. He was the Firelord, after all.

“This bed is magical,” she mumbled. It felt like centuries that she had been sleeping on the ground, in Appa’s saddle, and anywhere that was safe enough for a nap. Though she had been in the palace with Zuko for nearly a month, the softness of the beds still made her melt. She moaned low in her throat, rubbing her cheek on the downy pillow, soaking up the scent of Zuko.

“Should I leave you and the bed alone?” Zuko asked cheekily. He was just watching her, his arms folded loosely over his middle, a warm smile on his mouth. He looked like he was drinking her in, memorizing this moment forever, as though it would somehow be taken from him.

“Don’t you dare,” Katara murmured. She sat up and swept the netting aside again, holding it open for him. “Come here.”

Zuko crossed the room to her, shrugging out of his robe. He climbed into the bed beside her in his loose-fitting pants and flopped onto his back much like she had. His eyes were closed, his lips were curved in a small smile, and his face was relaxed. He looked impossibly young like that. The flickering golden candlelight in the wall sconces played beautifully over his pale skin, softening the edges of his scars and his dark red Soul Marks.

Katara swept her hair over her shoulder and leaned down to kiss him. Her long loose tresses tickled his face and upper shoulder regardless. He squirmed a little, laughing into her mouth until the pretense of kissing was broken. Katara deliberately swept her hair along his skin, watching him jumped and shiver, goosebumps breaking across his flesh despite the heat. He was so sensitive to every little touch, every small caress, every time. He would never get used to it and, for Katara, touching him would never get old.

“Stop,” he protested between stifled laughs. “I yield, I yield.”

Katara smirked. “If I'd known it was so easy to beat you, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Zuko's eyes danced with a flash of guilt, but then he reached up and swept his palm along her cheek. His fingers threaded into the cool silk of her hair and he drew her down for a sweet kiss. His lips were delicate, gentle, but hungry. He kissed as though he had been making up for lost time.

Katara's tongue swept along his lower lip and he opened his mouth easily, welcoming her inside. His mouth was faintly spicy, but Katara had grown accustomed to the spice of the Fire Nation. She licked into his mouth, dragging his tongue dance with hers. She nipped his lip, then his tongue, dragging him against her.

His grip on her hair was tight, desperate, clinging like a lifeline while they kissed. Katara lowered herself off her hand, resting her weight on her elbows, pressing her chest into his while they kissed. She could almost feel the rabbit-pulse of his heartbeat between them and was pleased to realize she wasn't the only one affected. She swept her tongue against him in a way that made him gasp. Then, she did it again.

Zuko broke the kiss when he couldn't take anymore. The heat coursing underneath his skin was almost unbearable. The only places where he could stand it was wherever Katara was touching him. There, it was as though she had soothed a balm over an open wound. He needed more—to feel more and more of her. His hand skipped along her side, over her shoulder and down her ribs, lingering at the edge of her breast bindings.

“May I?” he asked.

Katara's blue eyes sparkled. “Of course. Need help?”

“I've got it.” His deft fingers made quick work of the complicated knot. Then, it was just a matter of unwrapping her chest, revealing more and more of her dark sunk-kissed skin a ribbon at a time. He watched the swell of her breast as she breathed, waiting, patient, for him to open her up. Finally, the white cloth slipped away entirely and Zuko tipped it over the edge of the bed.

Katara didn't move to cover herself. She merely sat, a few inches away, her eyes fixed on his face.

Zuko held her gaze for a moment, smiling in a way that he hoped was reassuring before he closed the space between them. He hugged her close first, gathering her naked skin against his own. He ran his hands down her back, feeling her shudder and then trailed his fingers around to her front. He traced the swells of her flesh, marveling at the heat and softness of her. Then, he dragged his thumbs over her soft nipples and watched the rich red of their Soul Mark move across her skin like ink. Katara made a little sound and the peaks rose to meet him. He did it again, listening, watching, soaking it all in, watching the Soul Marks shift and settle with each touch.

“Where do you think our permanent Soul Mark will be?” Zuko asked conversationally, even as he pinched her nipples lightly between his fingers and tugged.

“Ah,” Katara managed. “This one on my hand doesn't seem like it's going anywhere. Oh, Zuko.”

His fingertips traced the whole of her breast, circling the globe as it were, watching the colors swirled on her skin. They remained only until he touched her someplace else, always moving with his newest caress, shifting and sliding around. Like she said, the Soul Mark on his hand and forearm where she had grasped to save his life showed no signs of fading or moving. He didn't mind. He liked knowing the Soul Marks were right there, in the open, undisguised, visible for all to see.

Her stomach jerked as he trailed lower, dipping just the edge of his fingers against her leggings. Her skin was warm and flushed, Soul Marks dancing around her hips as he steadied her.

“Please,” she said before he could even ask.

Wordlessly, Zuko dragged her leggings down. She wore nothing beneath them and the torchlight glittered on her spread thighs. Zuko's mouth ran dry at the sight of her very core, her petals soaked with desire for him. He had done that to her with his touches, his caresses, his hands and kisses. Katara's cheeks were pink, but she didn't hide behind her hands. She wasn't ashamed. He was her Soulmate, of course she wanted him and she knew he wanted her—wanted her more than his honor, his throne, than anything.

“Katara,” he murmured softly.

She stretched out a hand and smoothed it along the bulge in his pants. He gasped, sucking in a shuddering breath.

“Whatever you're ready for,” she assured him. “I'll be here either way.”

Zuko's golden eyes tracked down her face, over her tight breasts, to the apex of her parted thighs.

“You can see how much I want you,” she said when his gaze lingered. “My body is honest.”

Zuko's gaze snapped back to her face and he smiled, lowering his head to kiss her again. “Mine is too,” he agreed.

Katara pushed down his shorts and he kicked them off when she could no longer reach. Totally bare, they pressed against each other. Zuko's body burned like a brand along her side and Katara felt engulfed in flames everywhere save where she was wet and the night breeze was cooling her down. Zuko's palm was flat against her hip, encouraging her to turn so that there wasn't an inch of space between their bodies. She parted her thighs, hooking one leg over his hip, and his erection bumped against her sodden core.

They both stiffened, stifling twin sounds of eagerness and pleasure. Zuko's eyes found her face and she smiled. She shifted against him, her hips pressing down to bump him again. Zuko groaned and held her close, locking her in place while he fought for some semblance of control over himself. Katara made a hushing sound, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“We have time,” she said before he could speak. “It's our first time. It doesn't have to be perfect. It's just for you and me.”

Zuko's hand slipped between them, cupping her damp folds. Katara jolted and whimpered, even that slight touch enough to set her ablaze. Zuko let one finger slide into her, stroking and smoothing, opening her up. She bucked into his hand, welcoming a second finger easily. Being touched by him was so different than touching herself.

“Here,” she whispered. “Touch me right here.”

She guided his wet fingers to her pearl and showed him how to trace his thumb around the tingling bundle of nerves. He was a fast study and soon had her writhing, grinding into his palm in earnest. She was soaked, the moisture practically dripping from her core. His fingers made a filthy sound as he added a third and let her feel the stretch.

“I want you, Zuko,” she whispered. “Please.”

Still lying along her side, Zuko hitched her leg over his hip. She was open and wet and ready. He guided his shaft into her, pressing in steadily, anchoring her hip so that she couldn't move away. He alternated between watching her face and watching where he disappeared into her. Each time he glanced at her, he saw no sign of pain. Her head was tipped back, lips parted, eyes closed. She gasped raggedly, tiny cries sliding from her lips as she swallowed him. Finally, he was buried to the hilt inside her.

Quivering, he panted for breath. She was everything he had ever wanted and more. Her insides were soft and tight, warm and strong, squeezing him even as she welcomed him in. After a moment, Katara's blue eyes flashed open and she smiled so widely that Zuko thought his heart would crack.

“Is it okay?” he asked. “Does it hurt? I can pull—”

Katara dug her heel into his back, pressing him closer, securing him inside. “It's so good,” she assured him. “Don't you dare.”

“Can I move?”

“Yes.”

It was a little harder to thrust into her than he had expected, lying side by side like they were, but it was worth it because he could study her face without focusing on keeping his weight off her. Katara treated him to a variety of little gasps and sighs, whimpers and bitten-off pleas, moans and sounds of delight. She clutched his body with her curved leg, her palms pressed flat to his chest, gripping what she could of his skin for an anchor. He could see her Soul Mark, spreading rich red across his white skin. Where he gripped her thigh, holding her steady while he thrust, his hand left a perfect imprint.

Sweat beaded along his side and on his forehead. He tried to focus on his pace, rocking into her steadily. Then, she looked up at him and smiled. Her teeth were pressed into her lower lip and her blue eyes were delighted and her skin was flushed with pleasure and she was the most perfect thing he had ever seen in his life.

Zuko pulled out quickly, his orgasm tearing through him like a wildfire. He spilled his seed on her skin, gasping and quivering as he came down. She held him against her breasts, fingers carding through his soft dark hair. Then, she kissed him and he kissed her and it was everything to Zuko.

“You didn't,” he began.

Katara took his hand and slid it between them. She was still soaked, sweet and wet and slippery.

Zuko found her pearl on his own and rubbed it with tight circles, sliding two fingers back inside her. She held onto him while he stroked and touched and teased her. Zuko watched her face, memorizing which sounds came when he touched her where. Then, Katara's entire body went tight and her back arched. He felt her muscles constrict, fluttering around his fingers as she came as well. Panting, Katara's heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open as she grinned at him.

He was so focused on her, so awe-struck and in love, that Zuko didn't even realize he was hard again until she cupped his length in her palm.

“Again?” she asked.

He couldn't deny her, even if he hadn't desperately wanted just that. This time, he rolled onto his back, took her hand, and tugged her upright. Katara swung her leg over his hips, settling into a seated position with his shaft directly in front of her. She wrapped her fingers around it, giving a few firm strokes as she studied him. Zuko forced himself not to squirm under her gaze.

“Wow,” she murmured. “It's hard to believe that this fit inside me.”

Now, Zuko did blush. He opened his mouth to retort, but Katara shifted her weight onto her knees and sank down on him. It was all he could do not to come immediately. He gripped her hips and bit his lip, looking up at her as she took him inside. Her dark hair caught the firelight. Her glorious flushed skin shone with all the colors of love she had in her life. Her eyes were closed and her lips were tight, but she was smiling and she was his. Zuko loved her, gods, he loved her.

Katara's eyes flickered open, the blue almost swallowed by her blown pupils. She licked her lips, leaned down to kiss him chastely, and then started to move. She bounced, riding him with everything she had. Her hot wet walls were wringing him out, clutching and sucking him inside. She was moaning in earnest down, gasping with each steady movement. Zuko gripped her hips and thrust along with her, thrusting up as she rocked down, meeting her as an equal. Her breasts bounced and her curls swayed. Her hands were splayed on his chest, red weeping out beneath her touch even as Zuko left the same shade on her hips.

His heart felt full to bursting, overheated and overwhelmed.

Katara began to falter, losing rhythm as she approached her peak. She gasped, eyes settled on his face. Her entire body was sweat-slick and shuddering, trembling with desire. Zuko dragged his hand from her hip, across her lower abdomen, and settled it on her pearl. The Soul Mark followed, gathering under his fingers like her moisture as he stroked and circled where she wanted him most. Katara threw her head back, hair a riot of curls, as she finally came. A gush of wetness coursed from inside her and her muscles squeezed.

With Katara's weight on top of him, he couldn't pull out and inside anchored inside her as he spilled. She ground into him, pressing him deeper, feeling his wet seed mingle with her juices. Exhausted, spent, she carefully pulled off and collapsed alongside him. Zuko pulled her in immediately, swathing her in his arms before the sweat could cool on her skin. His inner fire flared to warm her and he held her close.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn't pull out in time.”

Katara kissed the tip of his nose. “Don't worry. I have some Moon Tea that your uncle gave me.”

Zuko couldn't quite find it in him to be embarrassed. Instead, he was only grateful that Iroh cared about his life, about his happiness—about Katara. Not that he was surprised. Zuko didn't know how he had ever doubted that his uncle had loved him unconditionally. As though reading his mind, Katara sweat a hand over the pure pink Soul Mark on Zuko's shoulder.

“Are you happy?” Katara asked.

“Don't ever doubt it,” Zuko said quickly. “I never thought I would get to be this happy in my life.”

Katara kissed his lips, burrowing deeper into his embrace.

Zuko found a cloth on his nightstand and gently cleaned her up. Then, he shifted her body beneath the covers and snuffed the torches with his bending. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the cool silver of the moonlight rather than the golden glow of fire. Then, he found himself staring down at Katara as she fought the pull of sleep. It was adorable how she wanted to stay up with him, but she just couldn't keep her eyes open. He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger warmly beside her grandmother's Soul Mark.

“Sleep,” he assured her, “I'll be here in the morning.”

Katara smiled sleepily and mumbled a little something that might have been his name. She cuddled into his side, fingers clutching the naked skin of his chest, right over his heart. He watched the Soul Mark spread in the moonlight, blooming and curling outwards like a rose beneath her touch. He felt like that—like a flower that had been turned towards to the sun, given tender care and nurtured until he was ready to let his true colors show.

X:End:X

I did only give this one pass through my editing brain [rather than my usual three, but it takes me an extra week to edit three times because I do it days apart and I wanted to get this up for you all] so do let me know if you see any glaring errors and I'll dig into fix them. [Give me the whole sentence with the mistake so I can find it easily.]

Questions, comments, concerns?


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